Terra Firma
by TenTenD
Summary: Given little choice but to leave her homeland, the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman finds that she has to build a new life in Jerusalem. She thinks God has shown her mercy, until she is introduced to the King. The young woman cannot help but wonder if there is any chance for this doomed love that grows between her and the ruler. The solid ground underneath her crumbles.
1. Chapter 1

Isabella Clerante paced the floor of her rooms like a caged beast. Her clear blue eyes shone with anger and her fingers clenched and unclenched in a show of impatience. Blonde hair whirled with a rushed turn of hers. The door gave a loud squeak of protest as it opened, and in came two young women. They looked anything but thrilled to be where they were.

The first of the two looked strikingly like Isabella, what with her long blonde tresses and sparkling azure eyes. They shared the same gaunt face and tall thin frame. Both held themselves very stiff, with a somewhat sour expression that made their lips thin in a line straight as a string. The other was significantly smaller, with a prominent, clearly pregnant, middle. Her rounded form made her movements sluggish and a bit difficult. However what made one wonder was her stark white face, so in contrast with her dark curls. The poor woman looked as if all blood had fled from her visage.

"Well?" asked Isabella, her eyebrow rising in a mocking show of surprise. "Do you have anything to say to me Bertha?" She eyes the pregnant woman with distaste. "Speak, wench!"

"My lady," Bertha curtsied, ignoring the third woman who was now standing behind her. "Why did you have Rosa bring me here? How may I be of service to you?"

"You insolent slime!" roared Isabella, her anger rising as Bertha stood stoically before her. She lunged forward, her hand making contact with the woman's cold cheek.

The force of the hit sent Bertha back a few steps. "My lady, I beg of you, what did do?"

"You have the gall to ask me that?" The mistress was scandalized. Isabella pointed accusingly to Bertha's midsection. "That is your sin, wench. You have cavorted with a married man. My husband! Do you deny that the child is his? Do you?"

Bertha had the good grace to blush, whether from anger or shame, no one could tell clearly. She did not answer to the questions thrown her way. What could she possibly say to placate her mistress? Isabella frowned but refused to give up. She would not let Bertha get away with this, she swore. How could she, in good conscience let that happen? Never. Over her dead body! Isabella would see this woman gone. Damn her and her progeny. With what right did she presume to give her husband a bastard child?

"I beg that you would keep your calm, my lady," Rosa interrupted with a concerned expression. "It cannot be good for you."

"Stay out of it, Rosa." Isabella circled Bertha like a hawk did its prey. "You will marry Heinrich, the wood cutter, to cover up this shame. Stupid girl."

Stunned into silence, Bertha bowed her head. She nodded slowly, this being her consent. Not that it was needed. Isabella would have married her to that man anyway. It was her right as mistress to give her to whomever she saw fit. Bertha had to go along with it lest she angered Isabella. Things were already in a bad state. For the baby inside of her she would do this, Bertha decided. She would be strong. She would survive this to deliver her child safely into this world and after that, God be willing, she would watch her little one grow. Her hand rested on her bulging middle.

Heinrich, a widower, happily accepted Bertha and her unborn child. He liked her enough to overlook the fact that she was not having his child. Besides he was too old to have progenies. He took her to wife, and a few moths later, a daughter was born. The parents named her Lavinia. Isabella, still upset and fuming, followed her husband to the newborn's dwelling. Despite her many protests, Lavinia was given the promise of care and a bright future from her husband. Bertha was pleased by the events as was Heinrich. Baby Lavinia simply snuggled into her mother's arms, too small to understand what was going on. Her star would soon shine brightest. Little did they all know, what waited for lord Clerante's bastard daughter. Isabella would unwillingly become Lavinia's greatest helping hand in regards to that.

The years passed and under the eyes of her parents, Lavinia grew up a happy child, loved by her family. It was no secret to her who her real father was, yet that did nothing to alter her love for Heinrich. She was attached to the old man, to the point where she considered him her genuine parent. Her mother's husband was fond of the girl too. He had wanted children, yet his first wife hadn't been able to produce any. Marrying Bertha gave him access to a little bundle of joy. But as all good things, it had to end. Tragedy struck and Heinrich fell ill. He was taken with that horrible disease that killed men with practiced ease. Leprosy had made its mark. Lavinia had been a girl of twelve, and despite that she had taken care of her father while her mother worked. It took four hard years, but Heinrich died one sunny summer day by which time Lavinia was sixteen. With the death of her father, Isabella saw the chance to send the girl away, along with her mother if possible.

Charming and apparently caring, Isabella set about convincing her husband to get rid of Lavinia. It was that very night that she started her campaign. Alexander, Isabella's youngest son, would carry out her plan by taking the girl with him to Jerusalem. "Think about it, husband. There is nothing for her here. If we let her go to Jerusalem, she will find her own place on this earth." There was no peace to be had in the household for the nobleman unless he gave in to his lady's wish. Isabella made sure her husband knew just that. "Soon she will be too old for marriage. By the time you make up your mind and decide to let her make her own life, she will be an old maid. You shall regret it, and she will despise you for it. Listen to me, I am a woman, and I know how she feels." For years she had dreamed of sending that bastard child away.

In the end Isabella prevailed, and her husband complied. He called his only daughter to impart the news upon her. Lavinia, not thinking anything of the invitation, accepted; she was still in mourning, so it paid to be good to others. She might as well start with her natural father, it occurred to her. As she entered the room, he looked her over. Lavinia was clearly Bertha's daughter. But instead of her mother's grey eyes, she looked at him with warm hazel orbs. Her long umber hair rested in a braid, down her back. She seemed much like a child if one were to judge by her diminutive size and innocent visage.

"Something needs to be done," he started, ignoring Lavinia's confused stare. "You are no longer a child. You are now a young woman. Soon you will want your own family; you will want children to nurture and a husband to care for you, and you for him." She looked dumbfounded. "Do not watch me so, Lavinia. I have decided that you are to be sent, with your mother, to Jerusalem. A visit to the Holy Land will do you good."

"That is a generous offer, I'm aware," began Lavinia, "however I think you have not been informed yet. My mother is ill, my lord. It is the same disease that took my father's life. Would it be wise to take her on such a journey?" Her eyes were drawn to the wooden floors.

An unreadable expression marred the man's face at that. "All the more reason, my dear. The Holy Land is a place of miracles. Your mother may be healed if she were to travel there. Many speak of the curing properties that the cross has. I have arranged for Alexander to take you there as that is his destination as well."

"But my lord," Lavinia dared interrupt, "my mother's illness is not an easy one. Who would care for her on this voyage? We will be at sea. She needs to be kept from all others, lest they get infected as well." Indecision made her lover lip quiver.

"That is so. Do not worry." He considered her words for a few good seconds. "You shall have a cabin of your own and your mother will be made comfortable there." The nobleman chose not to express his surprise that she was still healthy, although both people she lived with were not. "You leave in two weeks' time. I have already sent a letter to an old friend of mine, Lord Tiberias. Bear that name in mind."

It remained unspoken that he was glad to be rid of this burden. Bertha had been a sin for him, a mistake made out of sheer stupidity. He owed it to the woman to see that she was cared for, yet that did not mean he ought to keep her so close to his home and into his wife's way. Isabella had a way of making things difficult for him. It was best for all involved if mother and daughter went away. Jerusalem would provide for them as it did for all other pilgrims.

So it was Lavinia and Bertha, with the aid of Alexander, set for Jerusalem by sea. They boarded his ship one fine morning. Alexander was Isabella's youngest child, two years Lavinia's senior. He was close to his half-sister, more than his older brothers. He was aware that Bertha could not have refused his father. He bore no ill will towards his sister, even more, he was fond of her. As children they used to play together, much to his mother's grief. Alexander even taught Lavinia to read and write in Latin, something not many could boast with. She also got on well in Greek when needed. The skills, Alexander thought, would help her in those foreign lands. "This knowledge," Alexander told her one day, "will be of use to you. The attention you will receive, oh sister, you cannot even imagine it!" Lavinia shook her head and stifled a giggle, her eyes watching the waves.

The sea was calm, deceitfully so even. Lavinia had been warned about the devious nature of it. One moment all was well, then out of nowhere a storm would break out. Luckily, no storm raged on their journey. "It gladdens my heart that God shines his mercy down upon us," Lavinia noted with some dry humour. The sailors were not of the same mind, something told her.

It was not yet upon her that the grief caused on this journey would have nothing to do with the sea. Instead, it would have to do with her mother. Sadly, Bertha's condition grew worse. The day they threw her mother's body overboard Lavinia thought her tears would never end. All her prayers pleaded for the occurrence to be a nightmare. She still needed her mother to be around. To no avail did Alexander console her, his sister could not, nor would she, stop the pain that ate at her. Bertha was somewhere at the bottom of the sea and her daughter was left alone in the wide cruel world, alone to fend for herself.

And the biggest shock was arriving to the coast. They were met with a vast desert, burning like liquid gold under the sun. Her eyes watered as sand brushed against them. Lavinia marvelled at every sight of the sand dunes and silky debris under her feet. Alexander yelled at her all the way to stop walking barefoot; she ignored him, for the feeling of sand underneath her toes was lovely. Back home there was nothing like it.

Jerusalem itself was a kingdom of naught but sand and dreams. The architecture was a mix, as was the population from what Lavinia could tell. Muslims, Christians and Jews, they existed within the walls together. Hazel eyes widened in genuine curiosity as she took the details in. Of course, there were less pleasant sights, such as the hangings. Lavinia shuddered as she watched the life leave the bodies of rather young men. What had they done? She wondered in silence, not daring to ask.

But she got over it pretty well. Alexander teased her and laughed at her avid wonder, and gently pulled her down the busy streets, barely giving her time to take it all in. Her own low laughter followed his, like tiny bells. The many people went in all directions, mindless of the general chaos. Merchants called out the prices of their products, only a few stopped to buy. Most paused to look, to feel, and then to try negotiating with the seller. Seldom did they drop the price.

Lavinia followed Alexander to the well, where a few people were cooling with fresh water. "What are we to do now?" she asked as he gave her some of the sweet liquid to drink. "Are you going to look for Lord Tiberias?"

"No need," Alexander said softly. "Father has sent him word of our arrival. No doubt the man has put someone on the job of scouting for us."

Before he could say anything else, a riot broke out in the middle of the street. The crowd of swarming humans parted, as if retreating from a raging fire. Some were yelling, while others hurried away with horrified looks. In the middle, a heavily bandaged person had fallen to the ground, hands raised above as if asking for help. Lavinia could tell right away what had happened. Ungluing herself from Alexander's side, and despite his loud protests, she hurried across the dusty road to the fallen person. On a closer inspection she found it was a young woman, not much older than herself, but taller and broader. However she barely made it to her when someone threw a rock. The rest followed suit.

Whirling around Lavinia glared at the mob. "What do you think you are doing? This woman is hurt! For what purpose are you injuring her further? Do you have no conscience? Are you not Christians?" she spit the string of questions out as she helped the woman to her feet, ignoring the murmurs other gave. "The words of our Lord Jesus have fallen on deaf ears once more." The reproof in her words made the crowd still.

"She is a leper!" someone yelled. Other hurried to agree, unknowingly attracting Lavinia's wrath. "She should know better than to come here with her disease and endanger us all!"

"How dare you?!" Lavina screamed over the loud noise. These were not humans, she was sure. They could not possibly be that cruel if they were. "I am now convinced you people have no souls. Come on. Let me aid you," she said, looking at the woman she had picked off of the ground. "What is your name?" In a kind manner, she patted back the stranger's hair. "Do not be afraid. I shan't harm you."

"Deadra is what they call me, kind lady," the leper volunteered in a small voice, frail and unsure. "Many thanks. You are a kind soul, kinder than those who would hurt me. But my lady, I am ill. You best keep away from me." The warning had been spoken somewhat bitterly as if Deadra needed to force the words out.

"First, I am no lady. And then, I must tell you that I have lived with ailing people before. Both my parents were lepers," Lavinia explained, while inspecting the bandages around the woman's arms. "These will need to be changed."

"How would I manage to do that?" Deadra questioned. "I am poor, kind Christian. I do not have the money to buy new bandages." Her lips twisted in a tart smile.

"Then boil the ones you have," instructed Lavinia with a new shine in her dark eyes. "As soon you get home, take this gauze off and put some water to boil. Once it does, throw the fabric in and leave it there for a short while." She stopped and took Deadra's hands. "Better yet, tell me where to look for you and I shall come help you once I am settled."

"Lavinia, enough!" yelled Alexander, urging his sister to come back at his side. "Come, girl, we have to be on our way. Time is wasting." Once she was close enough, he grabbed her hand and pulled her along at a hurried pace, "I beg that you would not stop to help all the needy you meet on your way."

"And why shouldn't I?" Lavinia retorted, rather offended at his request. "Are you worried that I will perhaps come to some harm? You needn't, I assure you. Brother, I have lived surrounded by those affected of illness all my life. I am not unwell, nor was I ever."

"God protects you then, Lavinia, but for how long?" Alexander had a hard time understanding his sister's actions. "I cannot allow this to go on. As soon as we are settled you are to give up such dealings. I command it as your brother. Our host, Lord Tiberias, and I as well have agreed upon this. This is not home. Danger lurks around every corner."

"I cannot imagine what you are referring to, Alexander, for now I am sure it is not the lepers we are talking about." Tiny hands curved into tight fists. "What are you hiding from me? Tell me. You have my word that I shall not cause you any trouble as long as I know what worries you."

"I have no wish to alarm you, but you must be warned." Alexander might have not said that for her ears, so Lavinia held her peace. "The Templers roam about, and I'm afraid they are not quite the knights we though them to be," he finished.

"Why does that concern me?" Lavinia was genuinely confused. But then it fell upon her like a brick. "You think they might attempt to rob me of my virtue?"

"You are a beautiful young woman. There is no husband to care of you, nor a father. You only have me," Alexander pointed out. His eyebrows rose in a strange way Lavinia had not thought possible. "It is for your own safety that you have to find someone of your own in these lands. You are far from stupid. Both of us know that you shall not return with me."

"I thought so," Lavinia agreed in a murmur. "I wondered why your mother was so insistent on us being delivered here. I shall take your words to heart, brother. But I still think you should not worry. Our lord father sent a letter to out host, I aware. He must have touched upon the subject of my protection."

"Would you not prefer a sweet lie?" Clear blue eyes watched Lavinia's every move, the young man was unsurprised to see her shake her head. "Very well, as far as I've been told, he did mention something to lord Tiberias. However no answer came, so I do not know the verdict."

"Perhaps God will grant me mercy." Hazel orbs stared in the distance. "Lord Tiberias will show us to father's lands here, will he not? Then maybe you can leave me to manage there. That would solve a few of out problems."

"Yes, of course. Sister, I will give your hand only to a worthy person. You have my promise." His voice held so much sincerity that even his eyes shone with it. "Worry not, I am on your side in this. Let us make our way to the shade. This sun is killing me, I swear to God."

"Take your bow and put it down," Lavinia jokingly suggested. "I am sure many will be grateful. This heat is indeed bothersome. Oh brother, I am so excited to be here, despite the less than savoury circumstances." She brushed a thick strand of hair behind her ear. "Nothing will be the same ever again."

Her brother silently agreed with the observation. Nothing would ever be like it was, of course not. The world constantly progressed. They were now where they were and soon the dust of their bones would be gone. What a grand creature the human was, and how infirm God's creation proved to be. The test of time would wash them all away. Alexander shook his head. It was not yet time to fall into philosophy. That was best done with a glass of wine and steaming bowls of food before him. And best of all, his sister would be there with him and they might share opinions, Lavinia had a sharp mind about her; she was a blessing to have around. Alexander had half a mind not to marry her and keep her in his care for the rest of her days. But alas that was not possible. His stay in Jerusalem was a short one, while she would stay for as long as God kept her.

One thing Alexander had not told his sister was that the Templers were not the only danger she should worry about. He kept quiet about the Saracens. She would find out soon enough, and come out of it unharmed, he hoped. Lavinia had a sort of aura about her that usually allowed her to avoid impossible situations. It might be that God cherished the petite woman as much as Alexander did, for that was one of the few plausible explanations. A bastard child, and a daughter at that too; she could have had so much more had she been a legitimate offspring of his father's. Unfortunately it was not meant to be. Hers was the chance to free herself of the iron restrictions they had put upon her when she was born. If only she would reach out, with patience and skill, Lavinia might even become a woman of consequence. But was that what she wanted, Alexander wondered. His dear sister had always favoured her time with books than with people. She enjoyed reading, a skill he had taught her himself.

A man, small of stature and dark skinned approached Alexander and his company. "Excuse me, are you the son of lord Clerante?" Fathomless eyes scrutinized them all. Alexander nodded, his gaze guarded. "I have been sent by my Lord Tiberias. He issues an invitation for you. Follow me."

Without another option, Alexander signalled for them all to comply. Lavinia skipped a few steps behind her brother, gently tugging his hand. In a gesture of comfort, Alexander took her hand in his and discreetly smiled at her. They passed through a mass of agitating humans further along the road. Imposing structures appeared before Lavinia's eyes and she studied them with all the seriousness she could muster over the thrumming of her own heart. She could not help but wonder what this Lord Tiberias was like? If he was a friend of Alexander's father, Lavinia did not doubt his integrity or the fact that he would indeed offer them aid. He would also have to be quite old by her count. At least three decades her senior if she was not mistaken. Possibly he was a man with grey hair. She bit down a giggle at the image.

They got in a part where not many souls lingered. Lavinia marvelled at the beautifully carved gate and admired the bright colours. The white walls shined in the sun, pleasantly twining with the yellows and blues and oranges. "The architecture is divine," she whispered to Alexander who grumbled in agreement. He was searching for something else and not paying much attention to what was being said by his sister. Rolling her eyes at his behaviour Lavinia returned all of her attention to what was of interest to her. A small smile rolled on her lips as the heat of the sun burned on her back.

A distinct feeling of gratefulness flooded Lavinia once she entered the shelter of shadows. Much to her astonishment, a tall man approached them. He was dressed in fine clothing of dark colour. Perhaps silk, Lavinia thought as she watched him closely. This man was past his prime but his hair had not lost its darkness, and his body seemed fit to lead an army into battle. The only thing that attracted Lavinia's attention, however, was the scar that marred his face. It was a long thin line stretching from above his eyes to the middle of his cheek.

"You must be Clerante's children!" It was a sharp observation given in a rough, but not unkind, manner His was the voice of a man who was born to give orders. "I am Tiberias, the Marshall of Jerusalem. Your father is a dear friend."

"I am Alexander of Clerante. This is my sister, Lavinia." He gestured to the afore mentioned woman, who bowed as was the fashion. "It is an honour for us to meet your lordship."

"Indeed she is." Tiberias let his eyes wander over the woman with nonchalance. "You shall spend your time within your father's lands, I presume." He waited for Alexander's nod. "My man will show you the way. Your parent has a wide property here. There are two thousand acres, two hundred families on his land. They are of all nations and beliefs. His lands match his importance."

There was nothing more to be said, not to virtual strangers. Tiberias thought back to the letter his friend had sent him. The boy, Alexander, his father had said was a dreamer. His half-sister was not much different, lord Clerante feared; in addition his wife did not particularly like her. Truth be told, she did not accept her husband's bastard child. A proud woman, Tiberias though with a moment's hesitation, proud and without a bit of compassion to her. But it may be that this dreamer would prove useful. It always paid to make allies of the newcomers. It was a lesson long since learned. If one did not pay attention to the newly added members to their ranks, they risked losing them to the likes of Guy, Reynald and their legion of followers.

After a short while spent making small talk, the Marshall of Jerusalem noticed the signs of fatigue his guests presented. Therefore it was decided that they needed a good rest. The same man that had led the siblings to Tiberias' home was assigned the mission of taking them to the so much mentioned lands.

It also became apparent that they would not make the distance on foot. For the first time in a long time Lavinia was helped on a horse. A mare the colour of dried wheat that nickered softly as she sunk her heels lightly in its sides. The mare galloped with ease on the sandy planes, keeping close to Alexander's stallion. A wave of dust went up in their wake. The wind sang a lively tune, whooshing past them, trying in vain to push the riders back.

"I take it this is to your liking," the young man yelled back to his sister over the sound of hooves pummelling the ground.

"It is!" she admitted loudly. "This is the most fun I've had since we got lost in the woods all those years ago. Do you remember?"

"For the sake of holy God and the cross, woman, do not force that memory upon me!" Alexander urged his beast on violently. "It is the last thing I wish to remember."

"Only because you do not wish to admit to weakness," Lavinia noted sardonically. "Your vanity will be your downfall should you not take the time to control it. Be warned." A grain of sand attacked her eye and she hurriedly brushed it away. Her brother was avoiding offering an answer, she knew. It was not that she wished to challenge him but it was best if he heard the truth from her lips rather than from a stranger's mouth.

Ever vigil, their guide pushed his way between the brother and sister. "We are close. Look ahead and you can see the fort." With a finger he pointed in the direction of the horizon.

The closer they got, the bigger the stronghold became in size. The monochromatic golden scheme served to cause some confusion. However it was quickly taken care of by their aide who explained to them that sometimes the desert played tricks on its inhabitants. "She's a cruel mistress. Take care not to get caught up in her sand storms, or the veils she wraps around you will suffocate you. You'll be dead long before anyone can think to look for you."

"That's comforting," Alexander stated. "A bed of sand, and sand above; one can think of not better way to die, surely."

"Your joke is in poor taste," Lavinia pointed out, feeling a tad irked. It hadn't escaped her that his words could be taken as a jab to her departed parents. "You say the most inappropriate things at times, I am sure you are aware."

"It was not my intention to wound you." He seemed sincerely distressed at the notion of causing her pain. "I did not mean to upset you. Forgive my words, I was not thinking before I opened my mouth."

"Seldom is it that you do," she countered cheekily, her good mood returning. "All is forgiven, brother." Lavinia smiled at him tenderly.

Before them the imposing structure stretched out before the riders its gate opening invitingly. They were waited for, Lavinia realised with a start. Of course they were, her father had announced their arrival some time ago. The horses slowed their pace, a thin sheen of sweat coating their skins. Lavinia ran her fingers through her mare's mane, gently encouraging her. "Just a little more. We are almost there." As if her nonsensical whispers made perfect sense to the animal, it nickered in response.

"This is it, Lavinia!" cheered Alexander. He turned slightly to look at her. "This is our home from now on."

* * *

_**A/N: I hope you have enjoyed this attempt of mine. The idea is to provide King Baldwin the Fourth with a love interest. There are too few such works of fiction that touch upon the subject.**_

_**I would be grateful if you reviewed this. Tell me what you think. **_


	2. Chapter 2

The scorching sun was the biggest change, Lavinia thought as she drew a line in the sand with a long stick. Her even steps carried her further from the house she and Alexander now inhabited. The young woman paused to watch a few children running around. A soft smile passed her lips at the unfolding scene. Such sweet angels they were, these little ones. Upon seeing her, the group of children stopped and regarded her with interest. They dared not approach, declaring themselves satisfied with just a few long glances. Having had their fill, they returned to the games.

"Qani," she called out, signalling one of the servants over. Lavinia had plans for the day; plans that included fulfilling a promise she had made not too long ago, to an unfortunate, ailing soul. "Qani, I have to go somewhere. Tell Jazib to ready my horse."

Qani was a boy barely younger than her. He was tall with uncommonly handsome features. Also he was quite taken with the new mistress, always ready to carry out her orders just to see her smile at him. "Yes, m'lady. May I join you? Perhaps I will be of help," he offered hesitantly. Anyother master would have whipped him for speaking out of turn.

"No, Qani. Where I am going, you would not wish to come," Lavinia assured him. She raised herself on her tiptoes and riffled his hair. "Just see that Jazib prepares my horse."

"Mercy," the boy implored, "but the master has given orders that you are not to leave alone." Eyes of black begged the mistress to understand his predicament. "Allow me to follow you, m'lady as I was ordered."

"I see I have no choice." She nodded her head and folded her arms across her chest. "Very well, Qani, tell Jazib to prepare two horses." Lavinia bade him leave and turned on her heel, only to see a lithe form crossing the distance between herself and the house at a rapid pace. "Mahrosh, why do you hurry so?"

Mahrosh, as she was called, stopped before Lavinia and panted, unable to speak. She wiped the sweat from her forehead away and dragged in a gulp of air. "I have done as you requested, mistress." She handed Lavinia a small basket. "The gauze is strong, durable. I cut it, as instructed, in wide stripes." Mahrosh swallowed thickly, waiting for the next order.

"Thank you, Mahrosh," Lavinia said. "You may retire now. Go rest a bit. I am sure Rafia can manage the kitchen without you for a while longer." She watched the girl skip away and checked the basket. After a brief inspection, she nodded. Before another moment could pass, Qani returned with two horses and a large basket. "Did Nora give you that?" Lavinia asked simply.

Her answer was a sharp nod. "Which way, m'lady?" Qani helped her climb on top of her horse, then hoisted himself up on his.

Uncertainty filled Lavinia. Should she tell him? "I am going to see the lepers, Qani."She had never been good al lying anyway. "You can wait for me in the market if you wish," Lavinia finished.

"The lepers?!" exclaimed Qani frightened. "M'lady, I beg that you would reconsider. It is dangerous. The master would not like it."

"The master will have to get used to not liking some things," Lavinia wilfully retorted. "Now let us be on our way."

Making haste, the left behind the lands of Clerante. Qani was the one to lead, she he knew the roads far better than Lavinia. To be fair, all the young woman could tell was that sand covered everything. She would be completely lost if left on her own out there. The horse trembled underneath her as she held herself to it. This animal as a fair one, if she'd ever seen any. It was not the mare she had first ridden on, instead this stallion was as black as night and fast on its feet. A worthy best, Lavinia though, affectionately patting its mane.

The inner city had not changed much since the last time of her visit. It was still the same, dusty streets trampled by the crowd. The people were once more rushing in every direction, worried faces and thin awareness. Lavinia saw all this with little effort. "Qani, why is that woman wearing a veil?" she asked, finally noticing an elderly woman with her face covered, only bright green orbs visible.

The servant glanced to the person she was pointing at. "Her? 'This the law of the Muslims. A woman must cover her face; her beauty is only to be shared with those she wants to share it with."

"Is that so?" Lavinia questioned thoughtfully. "I like the sound of that. Say, Qani, do you think I could get something like that as well. I bet it does wonders to keep this insufferable heat away." She waited for his nod and then spoke again. "Well, I am off to see the lepers."

"You do not even know which way to go," Qani pointed out, climbing down from his horse. He pulled Lavinia off of hers. "I shall accompany you, but you will be no more than a few minutes, m'lady, ot master will have my head."

Finally understanding the stakes, Lavinia nodded. She did not really think her brother would kill this man but Alexander was best not tested. "You have my word that I shall only leave these there and go." Hazel eyes remained impassive for a short while. "Show me the way," she said without a trace of hesitation.

And so, lady and servant walked the streets of Jerusalem, their horses trailing after them. People infected with leprosy tended to stick together, more accurately they were forced together in small camps, as to keep them away from healthy persons. So it made sense that the leper community was easy to find as it was generally avoided by those not ill. Lavinia huffed quietly. "God, how can you endure this? Give me wisdom or else I fear for the safety of these creations' of yours." It was infuriating to witness just how much some humans were willing to ignore a problem. Instead of caring of the diseased, they pushed them in a corner, like dirt under the rug.

Deadra could be found sitting on the ground as she was wont to do. And indeed upon Lavinia's arrival the woman was sitting on the ground next to a young man. When she saw Lavinia, the leper tried to stand to her feet but was quickly ordered to cease moving. Deadra was handed the two baskets and some jars of ointment with instructions on how to use them.

"This is Noah," Deadrea said in that small voice of hers. "He is new here."

Noah was a tall, broad man with a heavy moustache and a trimmed beard. Once upon a time he had been good looking; a handsome one. There were still signs of refinement on his face, and Lavinia shuddered to think what had brought him in such condition, for it was obvious that leprosy was not his only problem.

"I am unable to stay Deadra," Lavinia stated apologetically. "I must return home before my bother arrives or I will create trouble. The only thing I can do for you is send provisions from time to time. Would you accept my help?"

"Be blessed, kind lady!" the woman exclaimed, exalted. "Do not say that you are no lady, because it is not true. You are the kindest, most generous lady to ever walk upon this earth."

Precious little time Lavinia was able to spend with those she felt most comfortable with before Qani whisked her away. The boy reminded her of her promise and Lavinia forced herself to follow it through. "Thank you, for helping me," she whispered to him. "Do you think supplies could be sent here one in awhile? I would so much like it if-"

"You do not need to ask. It is enough to order me, m'lady," Qani let her know. In all fairness, it was unheard of for a lady to ask something of her servants. She was their mistress and they existed to do her bidding. "Do not forget, here you are Lady de Clerante."

"I shan't ever get used to that," Lavinia informed him without remorse. "And a good thing it is. Power changes people."

They arrived in the main street. It was at that point that the unexpected occurred. A man shot out in front of their horses, forcing both to pull on the reigns to stop the beasts from moving. The small commotion that occurred served to draw everyone's attention to them. Lavinia had Qani make sure the victim was unharmed after which she was about ready to order that they return home.

"My Lady de Clerante!" a familiar voice calle4d from ahead, making Lavinia look up. Coming up to them through the parted crowd was Tiberais, the Marshal of Jerusalem. "What brings you here, unescorted?" His eyes barely took notice of Qani. "Does your lord brother know of your whereabouts?"

Whatever answer Lavinia might have offered was cut off by the appearance of another man. He walked behind lord Tiberias quickly, slapping a hand to the man's back. "Why did you hurry so, old friend?" He became aware of Lavinia's presence. After a short awkward moment on her part, he bowed. "I see. Forgive my rudeness, fair lady. I am Godfrey de Ibelin. At your service." He elbowed Tiberais.

"Lavinia de Clerante, " the young woman returned. She observed him with mild curiosity. "My brother knows all he must know, my lord Tiberais. You needn't worry after my welfare." She paused. "I was just about to return."

"De Clerante?" asked the man called Godfrey. "Are you perhaps the sister of young knight Alexander de Clerante?"

"Knight?" Lavinia was confused. Then she remembered the title that came with the lands. "Ah, yes. That would be me, sire. However I fail to see how that is relevant."

"But it is, my dear girl," de Ibelin continued, "for you must do us the honour of joining us. Sibylla, the Princess of Jerusalem, and her lord husband, Guy of Lusignan, extend an invitation to you, my lady. Your brother awaits your arrival."

Taking a moment to consider, Lavinia closed her eyes. The Princess and her husband, eh? She had not missed the mirth in de Ibelin's stare. What could that mean? Her brother was already there and everything she had heard implied that these two men would also be there. Lord Tiberias was a friend of her father's. Surely he would not let anything grievous happen to her. "Yes, of course." And suddenly she was glad for something. She was glad her brother waited for her there. "I cannot refuse such an offer." It would have been a capital offence. One she would have paid for with her head, Lavinia was sure.

If there was one things she had learned, then it was that those in power did not invite. They ordered. Not listening to said commands could bring about only pain. Even more so in this case where her value was debatable at best. Lavinia had no illusions. She was disposable; getting rid of her was easy. Best not to give them any cause, she cautiously reasoned. And so, she found herself following behind the men. Tendrils of heat brushed the top of her head but she was too lost in her thoughts to feel the message being sent her way. Just as well, for she would be more surprised for what waited her there. Should she worry senselessly over things out of her control, Lavinia contemplated silently. Of course not, let God's will prevail. She trusted herself in His hands. Whatever the Creator decided for her, she could not modify. A tired sigh left her lips. Trouble was an old friend.

Aware of the small sound she had made, Tberias almost turned to look at the young woman. He had no doubt that she had said not a word to her brother of this little outing of hers. No, she did not seem the type to do that. The Marshal considered her. From what other told him she was a woman of higher intellect than others, adding to which she had received a fair education. Alexander de Clerante had told him she was only a half-sister, which lest her more leeway. She was not expected to make a brilliant match so it did not matter if she spent more time with books, parchments, quills and not fussing over dresses. According to her brother, this girl only needed to find someone that could make use of her knowledge. That had sparked the Marshal's interest. It was uncommon for a woman to take so well to acquiring knowledge of the academicals kind. If they could convince her to aid them, then it would be all too well.

Like a good, obedient lady, Lavinia tailed Godfrey de Ibelin and Tiberias. Discreetly she let herself soak in the details. It was a lavish affair, she realised. Oh, she should have expected it. But what attracted her interest most of all was not the décor. Not at all. The image of a handsome man violently took over her vision. He was not very tall, certainly taller than her but significantly small than other men there. Even so his features were those of a Greek god. His beauty was of the dark sort; perhaps most like a serpent, carefully gliding through the grass biding its time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Apparently he had felt her eyes on him for he offered her a scrutiny of his own. Far from impressed, Lavinia shied away from such observation. He was dangerous; a lethal poison she did not wish to tough. Something warned her against him.

Next to the unknown man, sat a lady. She too was beautiful. Lavinia admired the way her dress suited her so well. She had a light shade of blue eyes, framed by thick lashes. Lips painted red, she kept them in a straight line. Lavinia thought it a pity for she would have been a sight. A thin strand of hair escaped the material gathered at the top of the woman's head, its onyx colour contrasting with the whiteness of her skin. The pallor was an advantage to her, Lavinia though, as she wore it so well. However, something was amiss. This woman was cold, a block of ice. She regarded all with a frosty stare. In her bones, Lavinia could feel it; she was no safer than the man next to her. Making a note to not get too close, the young woman turned her eyes to the ground. It would not do to be caught staring shamelessly.

"Allow me to introduce Lavinia de Clerante," the lord of Ibelin spoke, his booming voice garnering the attention of all. He prompted Lavinia to come closer. "I believe you've already met her brother."

True enough, Alexander was also at the table. To Lavinia's relief, there was an empty seat next to him. It was so very fine because the only other unoccupied spots were at the side of that handsome stranger and to the left of a blond man, heartily eating a chunk of meat.

"Welcome," the woman at the head of the table said. She smiled and Lavinia bowed. "I am Sibylla de Lusignan."

"Guy of Lusignan," the man recommended himself. He took one more look at Lavinia, something glinting in his eyes. "We are most pleased to have you at our table. Even if you did bring the likes of de Ibelin and Tiberias."

If it had been Guy's intention to shock Lavinia, then he had chosen wisely. It was clear there was no love lost between the three of them. Fearing that she would be entangled in game she was not adept at, the woman inclined her head, as if accepting the censure. In the back of her mind, she was already forming a plan to escape whatever scheme was being concocted at the moment. "I fear I am ill-equipped to be the judge of their worth, my lord." She had subtly let him know just what she though of his words.

Recognizing the meaning behind what was said, Sibylla smiled once more. "I see that you and I shall be great together." One long, elegant finger beckoned Lavinia over. "Come, sit by me, for I have sorely missed female company. De Gounard will not mind."

The man that was mentioned got up with a flourish. He pulled the chair for Lavinia and moved a seat back. Taking the place that was assigned to her Lavinia thought she might have kept quiet. Now she could not possibly leave this. "You honour me too greatly."

"Nonsense," Sibylla countered. She raised her glass filled with wine, "To Jerusalem! May God bless you all and keep you in good health!"

"To Jerusalem," came the wave of voices, ready to drink. It mattered little for what, Lavinia knew it well. She took a sip of her own wine and then put it back on the table. She barely even toughed her food all through the meal. What she did do was hold a conversation with the Princess of Jerusalem. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge, Lavinia mulled over. Sibylla was not a bad person; at least she did not seem to be so, but one could hardly be sure after knowing the woman for less than a day. The Princess was thrilled to have a partner to talk to and although Lavinia's interventions were sparse, Sibylla's manner spoke of the good time she was having.

There was one thing Lavinia found disconcerting though. Guy was continuously staring at them. At first she thought he was merely looking at his wife. Who could blame him? She was gorgeous, after all. But Guy was not watching Sibylla at all. In stead his eyes had glued themselves to Lavinia's face to her great consternation. She ignored it as best as she could, blaming it on the alcohol. She was a novelty for the time being and the lord had drunk much wine. This was the only explanation that came to mind. It would be untoward to think anything else of it, not when Lavinia's only wish was for him advert his gaze. She was not her mother. She would not be taken in by some lord who found himself bored.

"Would you like to see the gardens?" Sibylla's voice brought Lavinia out of her reverie. The young woman nodded her head to Sibylla delight. "You walk down that path. They are straight ahead." Of course, there was something else to that too. Sibylla had seen the girl getting uncomfortable and she knew the source. Her husband could not be trusted to leave the girl alone. She would let the poor dear relax in the gardens and her husband would sit with his drink by her. "Go on then."

Thankful for the exit, Lavinia jumped to her feet. She nodded once in Alexander's direction and took the indicated path. The Princess had not led her astray, for a few seconds of walking brought her to a small pond surrounded by plan life. Brushing her rebellious hair back, Lavinia sat on the soft grass, nit minding that she might stain her dress. In truth she cared nothing for dresses, she only wore them for the sake of propriety.

Something sounded behind her. Lavinia leaped right out of her skin, thinking that perhaps Guy had followed her out. She prayed to the good Lord that it was not so. Frightened eyes, and quivering heart, she turned around to discover that she was in no real danger. Lavinia now faced the strangest site she had seen the whole day. Before her a man stood, using a crutch. Normally she would not consider it something out of the normal but this man was also wearing a mask. She caught on to his own surprise and a peal of laughter escaped her lips. She was not her mother, Lavinia firmly reminded herself. "Thank God," she muttered. "Forgive me," she addressed the stranger, "I did not mean to disturb. The Princess Sibylla allowed me to come here."

"Did she now?" a smooth voice questioned from behind the mask. Lavinia thought she heard some bitterness but ignored it. Instead she considered the sound itself. He could not be a bad person, she decided. A bad person could not possibly sound so soothing. But she wondered why he wore a mask and bandages wrapped around him. Could it be that he had some sort of affliction? Pondering over that she almost did not catch his next inquiry. "And who are you?"

"Oh Heavens! My manners," Lavinia chided herself. "Forgive my rudeness, I am Lavinia de Clerante." She curtsied, fully expecting him to return the gesture.

"And my sister let you come here?" he continued as if he had not even heard her. "Why?"

"I imagine that she wished it so. It is not my place to question the decisions of my highers." For the life of her Lavinia could not figure out what made him so irritable. "Again, I am sorry for being a nuisance. I shall leave you to your leisure time the, mu lord."

"Stay," he ordered. "I have nothing against you being here but I must warn you, just in case. It is clear that you do not know who I am. Before you stands the King of Jerusalem."

Had he expected her to faint or run for the hills, he was sorely mistaken. Lavinia blinked in confusion before dipping in a bow again. "You say that like I am not supposed to want to stay here if the King is near."

"Do you not have ears woman? Can you not see?" the King lashed out. "Or is it that your life is worth so little you would just throw it away?"

Then it came to Lavinia's mind. She had heard rumours in the street, yet never paid them much mind. People talked that the King was ill. They said he was a leper. "On the contrary, I very much cherish my life."

"Then why have you not left?" Baldwin pressed further, limping a few steps closer to her. "If you so much cherish your life?"

"Because, my liege," she leaned in as if sharing a secret with him, "I am in no danger here." A small smile graced her features. I would not stay otherwise."

"Do you believe yourself immune to the scourge? Or is it that you have already contacted the illness?" His eyes riveted behind the mask. "You do not seem like it."

"That is because I am not," Lavinia assured him. "I have no knowledge of being immune. Nor am I looking to become ill. But I must confess that in all my time spent with affected people I have yet to develop a similar condition to theirs."

"What an interesting sort you are. Fair then, help me sit down, if you are not too afraid that is," Baldwin said thinking he might corner her, and all that bravery would disperse.

Happy to be of some help, finally, Lavinia wounded her arm gently around his back and they both sat down on a stone bench. "Is it so hard to believe?" she asked, a mix of curiosity and something undefined in her voice.

"Does who do not fear me, generally pity me. To this day I cannot say which of the two is worse." It was something not easily told and Lavinia felt it to her heart.

"Do you deserve their pity?" she questioned, not him, not anyone but herself. "Shall we see? You are a stricken with leprosy. It is unfortunate but so are others. Then again you are also a king, you have a country to run. I assume you cannot afford to show weakness. Therefore you must be strong, or others would have long since deposed you. What I see is a man who lives his life honourably; he does his duty even when he could so very easily blame his being unwell for a weak rule. But don't do that, do you?" Lavinia looked at the mask. "I have no pity to offer to you because you have no need of it. I don't do gratuitous things."

"Interesting indeed," the King mussed. "Then what do you offer. I suppose it is something if you are still here."

"The only thing that I can offer," she replied. "My company for a few hours until my brother decides we should return home."

"Your company?" He seemed baffled, which prompted Lavinia to go back over what she had said. A wave of red attacked her cheeks.

"Do not misunderstand, my liege. I beg that you wouldn't," she pleaded softly. "I only meant that I should like to stay here and talk."

"I was not implying otherwise," Baldwin offered. A small chuckle followed his words. "I believe I have made you uncomfortable, my apologies."

"No need, my liege. I am well." As well as one might be after embarrassing herself, Lavinia thought dully.

A comfortable silence settled over them. Lavinia turned her face to the plants, bent on studying them. Who knew when she would again have such a chance? She admired the small red flowers. There were no such flowers back home, with such sharp edges. With a wistful sight she entertained a thought of her departed parents for a moment. They had left her all alone. Well, God gives and God takes, she could do no more than to accept what was given to her to carry.

"Do you wish to return to my sister's side?" Baldwin asked upon hearing her sigh. He thought that perhaps she had grown bored. The King feared his social skills were not all they were supposed to be, especially not when young women were concerned.

As a young boy he had been decidedly handsome, with eyes the colour of the sea and hair like the blackest coal. Had he not been a leper, Baldwin thought, he might have been quite as good looking as Sibylla's no good husband. That man was a pest and his sister realised her mistake too late. His mother, Agness, often said that her son would break many heart. And he did, but not quite in the way she had envisioned. His poor mother, Baldwin smiled bitterly. Nothing could ever get the image of her hysterical crying out of his mind. She had not taken the news of his illness well. Even now her eyes filled with tears if they happened to be alone in a room.

"Not at all," Lavinia answered, "my liege." And she did not; it was more than enough the time she spent there. "I declare I am quite pleased to just sit here. It is far more agreeable as far as I am concerned."

Baldwin took the time to analyze the girl. She was young, he decided. Somewhere around his age, maybe even younger. It was a wonder she was not married, for the girl looked ready for such a step. Or maybe she was and he did not know. However she had not mentioned a husband, only a brother. Should he ask? Should he not? Taking a chance, he decided to ask. "How is it that you find yourself out here alone? Does your husband not watch over you?"

"I believe he would if I had one," she carelessly answered, a shy smile pressing itself to her lips. "I have the unfortunate tendency to get myself in trouble. It stems form the fact that I am what some might call overly curious. As it is I am only exasperating my brother."

"So you are in the care of your brother?" He did not expect an answer to that. "How old are you then, for I confess I cannot tell."

"Old enough," she jokingly shot back at him. "It is of no consequence what my age might be. Why should it matter?"

"It does not, in truth." Best let the matter go. "What is it that occupies you time, my lady?"

"Oh, I'm sure you would find it all very boring." Lavinia clasped her hands together. "But if it is the truth you want, I like reading."

"Then you are no less boring than I," he teased in good humour. "Do you play chess?"

"Not often and very poorly," she admitted. "I have not had the chance to practice, not since my father's death." The words had left her mouth of their own accord. "My mother was even worse than I."

Avoiding mentioning her parents, Baldwin made her a proposition. "Then shall we make an arrangement? You may come play chess with me whenever you wish it. In exchange for that you must promise to come at least once a month."

"Play chess with the King?" Lavinia could not believe what she was hearing. He nodded. "Very well then, but don't complain when I get to be too much to handle."

It dawned upon her that he was awfully lonely. Of course he was, she thought. His sister was married. She had a husband to look after. The servants were just that, servants. What he lacked was appropriate company. He needed a soul he could feel close to on a more intimate basis. What was required was more than trust. Lavinia saw that he was deprived of affection. Not a problem, she had enough to spare. And she wanted to be a friend to this mysterious man.

The seed had already been planted. The only thigh it took for it to grow was time. And time was still there for them. The summer night of 1179 marked a beginning. It was a moment that would forever stay with them; in their hearts. Until the very end of their journey together, neither would forget that it had been for that fateful night that they could built a future together.

* * *

**_A/N: Okay so, I managed to write the whole thing today . I spent hours on this. Hopefully it was wroth it._**

**_Can't wait to hear what you have to say. :) _**

**_One more thing, the year is 1179, which makes Baldwin eighteen and Lavinia sixteen, for she is two years younger than him. _**


	3. Chapter 3

Lavinia moved a chess piece, frenzied anticipation shining in her eyes. Unconsciously she bit her lower lip, all of her attention entirely on the game. Unblinking and without fail the girl watched the move that was being made. A look of dejection crossed her features as her rook was lost. She was on a sinking ship yet having so much fun it really did not matter whether she was winning or not; which she wasn't quite clearly, winning that was.

Meanwhile Baldwin made it a point to observe his guest. She was very amusing to watch, her child-like reactions and genuine excitement were a sight to him. General isolation tended to make one appreciate such unbidden shows of emotion. He watched her avidly, not missing the smallest change on her face. Her bishop too fell. Wide eyes rose to his masked face in bewilderment. Baldwin smiled underneath his veneer, well aware that she could not tell. She would not be able to save her King. Just one more move. He ended the game swiftly.

"Such cruelty," she said softly, a large smile on her lips. "I see you are in no mood to spare me today." Warm eyes enveloped him in a look of amused mischievousness.

Her companion merely chuckled. "How is it my fault that my lady cannot keep her attention on the game?" His gloved hand made a vague gesture.

Laughter filled the room. "You do so enjoy teasing me." The remark was more of a thought spoken out loud. "Just you wait, one of these days it will be me who wins."

It was an entirely plausible prediction. Truth be told Lavinia was a fairly skilled player but Baldwin was much better by anyone's standards. Although chess was the official reason of her visits, it was well known among those close to the King that the games were not all there were to them. Or at the very least they suspected so. It could not be said that they were wrong; however they were not entirely right either. Not all was as they thought. Contrary to what most believed, Lavinia had not been coerced into spending her with Baldwin. Quite the opposite, she was more than willing to keep company with the King. In fact she craved these meeting just as much as he.

"Those are dangerous promises," was the warning she received in response. "My lady should be careful of the words that leave her mouth."

"Thou shalt not deliciate from mocking me." Lavinia brushed a strand of hair carelessly. "I will be forced to retaliate in some way and that may well mean I shall lose the only person capable of providing me with intelligent conversation."

"That would be dreadful, would it not?" Baldwin asked, fingers stretching over the dark wood of the table, gripping the edge. "It shall be a serious loss for you."

"Unbearable," she quickly uttered, her face taking a stern appearance. "I could not stand loosing your friendship. You do not know how much it means to me," she confessed, and her voice was overflowed with sincerity.

"On the contrary, it is you who does not know," the King replied in a whisper.

The admission brought a heavy silence between them. One was unsure of what to say next and the other confused. Baldwin was not looking to get himself in an unsightly situation so he refused to speak another word. Stating what he had could be understood in more than one way and even Lavinia, unknowing as she was, would be able to interpret it under different angles. There was nothing concrete behind his words yet they were not entirely innocent either. He could barely admit to himself the sort of attachment he was forming for this woman. It was not pride that stopped him. He cared not for the fact she was not a legitimate child. Nor was he stopped by the constrictions of society. He was the king, anything he wanted he could have. What made him constantly hesitate was his less than perfect state of health.

Despite the fact that she did not seem to care about his being ill, Baldwin did. He could not allow himself to want anything more from her, other than a platonic bond. A friend to play chess with on occasions. A feminine companion to delight an ailing man in the last of his life. The King was convinced that it was impossible for him to have anything else with her. The fragile link that held them together could be broken at any time. Whether he died or she got tired of keeping watch over a dying man. He would never be able to hold her hand, feel her fingers running through his hair and wrap his arms around her in slumber. A stab of pain shot trough him. It was not physical hurt; rather it was the emotional wound that acted on a physical plane. Teeth grounded against the revolting feeling; the sting strengthening his resolve to ignore it.

As Baldwin was consumed by his thoughts, Lavinia slipped into a haze of her own. She could tell he was holding something back; he always did. There was something making him build a wall between his person and the rest of the world. Most would point out that he was not well, and that was the cause. But Lavinia disagreed, vigorously so. Ill people sought the company of others so they may commiserate. Baldwin did not. He was alone by own choosing, she was left to understand, as she was one of the few he spent his time with. His only other visitors were the younger sister, Lord Godfrey de Ibeling and the Marshal. Her King was of active mind; doubtlessly it destroyed him to have so few to share his thoughts with.

However what Lavinia could not grasp was where she fit. The fact that he always put a distance between them chilled her to the bone; it scared her to know that while she was quickly becoming dependent on him, he could discard her at any moment. It was a reliance that tied her feelings to him. Her breath hitched as she thought with dread about the stern warnings of her brother. Alexander was a god man, with noble intentions, but he did not understand his sister's heart. What he warned her of was to not stand aside. What he saw was the potential of obtaining benefits; he did not stop to think that Lavinia hadn't for one second wanted anything more than Baldwin's friendship. Politics, the young woman thought miserably, had a way of destroying the good things in one's life.

"Shall we go out on the terrace?" she dared suggest. Her aim was to distract him. While she could not actually see his face, Lavinia was in tune with his moods most of the time. "It is such a lovely weather." And she half meant the words.

Agreement came with his nod. "Have you finally found it in yourself to love these arid lands?" Heavily and somewhat slow, Baldwin traversed the distance to the balcony. Lavinia had chosen not to follow immediately. "Why do you stand there unmoving?" was the question to reach her after an undetermined amount of time.

"Nothing," she hurried to answer, "just a memory." As if she had barely then registered his earlier inquiry, she pursed her lips. "And you know I love these lands, 'tis the blaze of the sun that bothers me." With long strides she followed him into the light, her eyes turning into slits. "Mayhap I shall never be fully accustomed to these brutal attacks."

For almost a year, she had been in this place. At this point she was comfortable with the blinding light and the excessive warmth. Not even the endless stretching of sand fazed her like it used to. Her brother's domain was in her care; she was the one to put effort into running it. It was not that Alexander lacked a caring heart, but he did not particularly take interest. After all, this was only a temporary stop on his journey. As Lavinia was the one who would be bound to this far off place he found her attention for it natural.

That was what prompted Lavinia's memory. She remembered that children being, Alexander and herself decided to climb a cherry tree. The weather had been hot that day, not hotter than Jerusalem, but certainly hot for those parts. They had used their agile fingers to break into the three's bark and went higher and higher. Those cherries looked so red and inviting. Small digits ripped the fruits wolfing them down. They had barely managed to get a few of them when the sunlight slashed through the tree's leafs, straight into Alexander's eyes. The boy let out a shriek and lost his balance, his hand slipping. Instinctively he tried to grab onto something to stop his fall. Unfortunately Lavinia was the closest to him. Being taken by surprise, she too lost equilibrium. The siblings dropped to the ground with a loud thud.

Vaguely, Lavinia remembered a dull pain piercing her skull. Perhaps she had also heard a cracking sound, she could not say for sure, as the memory was a distant one. But them what she distinctly recalled was a scream of terror from Alexander and being shaken wildly. A racket formed all around her, female voices spewing venomous accusations and man yelling over the sound of them. Strong hands picked her up and then she recollected no more. When she woke up, all her hair had been chopped off and her head hurt terribly. Tears formed in her eyes, but not from the ache. That hardly mattered. What got her goat was her mother's explanation that her hair had to be cut for them to stop the bleeding. For a fortnight Lavinia had refused to speak a word, worrying her parents greatly. Gradually she got her usual disposition back but since then she had never again cut her hair.

Brought out of her memories, the young woman wrapped her arms around one of the King's arms. He allowed such contact only when caught unaware and she enjoyed these occurrences, seldom as thy happened. "How is little Baldwin?" Lavinia broached the safe subject, her fingers lightly trailing a path down his arm. "Does he still so strongly oppose to spending a few hours with the tutors?"

"I'm afraid my nephew is determined in his attempt to drive them all away." Gloved digits gently separated her hand from his arm. "And my sister sees nothing wrong with that. She is of a mind that the child should be left to his play awhile longer."

"Do you fear he will make a bad habit of it?" Lavinia seated herself in a wooden chair. "Of refusing to educate himself? We have to admit that he is still a child, my liege. Let him be a child for awhile longer. There will be time enough to teach him the way of the world."

"What scares me is the he'll fall in the comfortable laziness of ignoring the need to cultivate his soul." The King sat in a second chair. "I want him to be a better king than I. Surely, I am not asking too much. The future of this Kingdom will rest upon his shoulders after I am gone."

Sorrow everywhere, she though as his voice filled her mind. "You're breaking your own heart with such considerations." Lavinia's eyes strayed to the zenith of a building in the distance. "Little Baldwin will grow up to be a great king. Why should he do any different with you as his example?" This talk of death always made Lavinia uncomfortable. "But let us not try running before we've started walking."

"There is always surprise waiting for me when I am with you," Baldwin commented contently. "When I think you'll say something your answer is quite unlike my expectations. You should go see the boy. He has been driving his mother mad with requests to see you."

"Shall I surprise him too, then?" Lavinia jested, her arms hands sliding to her knees. "I am a good negotiator. It is possible that I may bring about his interest to attend his tutors' lessons."

For a brief moment an internal scream of negation ringed through the King. It was a violent refusal of sharing this woman, even if the one she went to was his nephew. He caught himself and nodded his head. Unblinking, his stare followed her into the room and out the door until it closed with a soft thud. Releasing a sight Baldwin let his head fall back. He reminded himself that she was not his in any other way than a friend. No matter how much he wished it otherwise. "If you have any decency, you will let her go without handing over your heart," he thought out loud. "What would she do with the love of an ill man? Such a vivacious young woman; why would she even accept it? Don't you, for one second, entertain the notion!" She was not his. She was not his. The mantra went on and on in his head.

In the hallway light blue material swished with Lavinia's movements. Light shoes slid against the floors as she made her way to the prince's room. A guard opened the door for her and the small woman slipped in. She took a moment to observe the young boy lounging on a divan. His head was turned towards the door, probably in interest to see who had come to visit.

"Good day, my prince," Lavinia greeted the boy, her knees bending in a curtsy. "How are you today? I have heard you wanted to see me. So, here I am."

Young Baldwin jumped from his place hurrying towards her to the dismay of his minder. "My Lady de Clerante!" he called out, using the same appellative he heard on his uncles' lips. "They won't let me play. They say I have to take lessons from now on."

"Do they?" Lavinia feigned surprise. "And you do not want that?" He shook his head. "Well, this situation is complicated. Do you not wonder why they want you to have lessons?"

"Why?" the boy asked, his curiosity aroused. ""Do you now something, my lady? If so, waste no time in sharing your thoughts with me."

"Yes," a voice agreed from behind, prompting both woman and boy to look back. Guy de Lusignan stood in the doorway, his sword at his side, armour stained in dust and blood. "Do enlighten us." Despite his dishevelled state, the same elegance followed his like a shadow. His eyes lazily traced Lavinia's appearance. One strong hand caught her upper arm. "Son, I believe you have lessons to attend to."

"Then you must excuse me," Lavinia broke the ensuing silence, "for I am needed elsewhere." She pulled herself away from de Lusignan's grip. "I shall visit you again soon," she promised upon seeing the disappointed look on young Baldwin's face.

"Allow me to escort you," Guy offered, raising his arm mockingly.

"There is no need," Lavinia assured him. "I am on my way to see the King actually." She bowed to the man and the boy.

Once she was outside her hand automatically came to rest upon her chest. Her heart was beating loudly. "Good Lord," Lavinia whispered in disbelief. These episodes were getting on her nerves. It was like Guy made it his special mission to chase her around and make her uncomfortable. Opting for a safe retreat Lavinia hurriedly walked back to the King's chambers. She was nowhere near ready to go home.

Entering Baldwin's rooms, she found him at his desk, poring over some papers. Upon her arrival he brought his eyes up. For a moment surprise showed in his stare. "You are back so early. What happened?"

"Guy de Lusignan," she answered simply, strolling to a nearby chair and sitting down. "He came in covered in blood. Do not mind me; I am rather shaken by the image he presented. You should go back to your work; I promise I shan't distract you."

Baldwin did not have the heart to tell her that she would distract him either way. "It is best if you ignore my sister's husband."

"It is no easy task." Brown eyes stared into blue orbs. "I wish he would not do as he does." She fell silent for a split-second. "What are you reading?"

"Fortification plans." He called her over with a small gesture. Lavinia came behind him, leaning over to get a better look. "You see this here? This will deflect a possible attack. It stops the enemy from reaching this point and instead makes them take this route here which brings them to this place."

"A trap?" Lavinia traced it with her finger. "It makes sense. Are we expecting such an attack? Or is this a hypothetical situation?" His stare told her what she needed to know. "Saladin does not wish to fight at the moment."

"Yet he is given reasons everyday." Baldwin leaned back into his chair. "I do not know how long this peace will last."

"We are all in the hands of God," she reminded him with a low voice. "What will happen will happen. Make peace with the fact that you cannot control everything."

"I have made peace a long time ago." He turned to her. "Had I not, I do not think I would still be among the living."

The jolt that passed through her made Lavinia bring both of her hands to frame the King's face. The mask was cool beneath her palms. Shock stopped him from reacting long enough for Lavinia to stroke his metal clad cheek. "For that I will forever be grateful to you."

His gloved hand came to rest upon her bare one. "And I shall always be grateful to you, my lady." And he meant the words. He would always thank the Lord for having whatever little piece of her with him. He let hi guard down enough to forget to pull back from her touch.

Sensing the advantage Lavinia leaned in. Full lips made contact with the thin metal that covered Baldwin's forehead. "Had God allowed me to choose my brother, then I would have chosen you."

It was a bitter victory for the King. But being her brother would have enabled him to keep her close by his side. Even if he had been forced to marry her off, she could have still been kept by him. Just like Sibylla. He would have been able to see her every single day, to laugh with her and watch her smile. He would be the one she ran to with her problems. As it was Lavinia came to visit him almost daily to her brother's grievance. They played chess and talked. But how long until she would lose interest or be married off? How much time before was out of his reach?

If bitter had been the name Baldwin had chosen to describe his feelings, then guilty would be Lavinia's. She had lied through her teeth. All the blame rested with her. She could not bring herself to tell this man that her visits would need to stop. If she was to ever get married, like her brother wished, she could no longer see the King. Not because of anyone's objections but because her own heart would not be able to handle the pain. In the pit of her stomach she could feel it was a bit too late. And then she kissed his forehead, because she could not dream of touching her lips to his, even the silvery ones of his mask. What was she to do?

The moment was broken as a knock emitted from the door. Lavinia jumped back, astounded and embarrassed by her own thoughts. She shuffled awkwardly, taking a few steps away from Baldwin. A knot formed in her throat preventing her from saying anything, and quite literally making it hard to breathe. Baldwin on the other hand seemed to handle the situation just fine. There was nothing in his mannerism to suggest that anything special had happened between them. For some reason that made Lavinia's chest tighten painfully.

Out of the corner of his eyes Baldwin saw the hurt expression on the young woman's face. It was better like that, he decided; better not to build dreams upon unsteady sand. He had felt that taunting closeness; his hands itched to touch her, to twine his fingers with hers. Lips trembled behind the ornate mask, parting on instinct. A half-formed curse stood on the tip of his tongue. He was saved from having to release it as the Marshal walked in.

Tiberias stood before the kind wordlessly. From the moment he entered the room he was hit by the tense atmosphere. He caught Lavinia's face morphing in faux tranquillity. Puzzlement enveloped him. What could go wrong between these two people who, for the past months, had been almost inseparable? The only time they were not together was at night, for it would be unaccepted by society. Tiberias had no doubt that if possible they would throw the strictures away and let people talk. People talked anyway.

"Excuse me," Lavinia said softly, departing through a small door. Whenever someone came to talk to the King of official matters, she would go visit the young prince. But now she did not dare put a foot in the boy's room, least his father got it into his head that she was willing to play his games.

Far from being deaf, Lavinia knew all too well the talk that was going around. They said such awful things of Silylla's husband. If only half of them were true, Lavinia could not imagine the nightmare the princess was going through. But perhaps she was not being fair. Maybe Guy did have a good side to him; one that she hadn't the chance to see yet.

"Still here, my lady?" Speak of the devil, and he is on the doorsteps. Guy stood against a pillar, his now clean image seemingly at rest. "Mayhap you would join me for a walk." He extended his hand invitingly. For effect he even smiled at her, an almost boyish grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Hesitation made Lavinia freeze for one second. Impulsively she reached her hand out, placing her hand of the offered arm. "Why not, my lord?" It was her small revenge. It was petty and childish, but her confidence had been wounded. She was dejected, even a little angry. Not at Baldwin, never him. The anger was directed to her own person. "It is a lovely day for a walk." She dared a grin of her own, a bit shaky.

The lamb had fallen in his trap, Guy though, with a sense of satisfaction. Now to shake her. "Tell me my dear, have you heard the talks?" He smiled at her clear show of lack of knowledge. "They say there will be a war. Saladin will not rest until he gets his hands on Jerusalem. I wonder how our King will fare."

Cold dread dropped into Lavinia's stomach. So that had been Guy's plan. "Nay, I have heard nothing of it," she responded. "Though it's likely to be only talk. Peasants know little of what really goes on." Her jibe did not go unnoticed. "Saladin and our King are wise men. They will not wage war when there can be peace." Another swing at Guy that had him fixing her with a bitter stare. "I take my leave of you, my lord, for I am sure you've wasted enough of your precious time in me. I shall let you go discuss further war plans."

"My lady should have a care of the words that leave that pretty mouth." His warning held nothing other than amusement. "Do not forget who you are talking to."

"I have not, I assure you," Lavinia told him. She would have liked to call him a slimy snake to his face but she could not. Lavinia valued her life enough to hold her tongue. At least for some time, she decided.

"Oh, but I think you have," challenged Guy. "I am the future king. You will bow to me. Never forget." His hand cupped her cheek, gently stroking her flushed skin. He leaned in. "The leper won't live much longer; you better start looking elsewhere for protection."

"Rot in hell," Lavinia growled. There were limits, and Guy had just crossed all of them. "You know nothing."

He laughed, a guttural sound of disbelief, and simply walked away. "It will be you who bows," Lavinia murmured. "It will be you who bows at my feet. I promise you. As long as there is breath in my body you will not be king. Not my king."And thus a plan was formed. Ambition burned in Lavinia's veins. She would not let that man best her, she resolved. If needed, she would move mountains. "Snake! I hope you choke and die."

"Whose fault is it that you are in such a mood?" came the well known voice of the Marshal.

Lavinia whirled around, facing the newcomer. Had he heard? "It is nothing," she declared and tried to divert the talk. "Were you looking for me or did you just happen to pass by?"

"The King would have you back now." Tiberias levelled a questioning look her way. "What did Guy say to you?"

"So you saw us?" She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue as if considering whether to answer or not. "As always Guy was boasting. What else could he have to say? His world revolves exclusively around his own person. It would be wrong of us to think we can come between such adoration."

A wry smile formed on the Marshal's lips. "You forget that he also strongly advices that we begin was with the Saracens. Of course, not through his own voice."

"I think the master of Kerak is not opposed to such a war. His Templers spare no caravans, I've heard." She made a show of it, acting as if she was telling him something of great importance. "Today, my King asked me how the peace was to last in such conditions."

"It will have to hold. There is no other choice," Tiberias offered, his face stony. "If Saladin brings war upon us, we don't have much of a chance to win. Guy and his Templar allies refuse to acknowledge that. They play a dangerous game."

"He is the husband of our King's sister," Lavinia pointed out. "He is well protected, even against the words of the wise."

"Such tragedy," the Marshal noted. "We still have need of him despite his many transgressions. If only we could leash him."

"You ask too much, my lord." She made a gesture with her hand, almost derisive.

"Yet I am not the one who plans to bring him to his knees," Tiberias replied.

"His end will come," Lavinia informed with a lack of sympathy. There was no love lost between herself and that man. She could not bring herself to feel sorry for his misfortunes. If anything she was sorry for his wife and child who actually lived under his command. Or not. Sibylla did not seem the type to take orders from the likes of Guy. Hopefully she managed to keep him away from her; poor woman. "And when it does," the rest remained unsaid.

Twisting, the woman inclined her head to the Marshal in sign of farewell. Without another word she crossed the distance to her King's rooms. Indecision made her actions slow. Deliberately she stood before the doors, not asking the guards to open them. She needed a moment. To think, to decide. Finally she nodded her head and entered, only stopping after her feet had crossed the threshold. The doors closed behind her with a thud that resonated in the following silence.

Choosing her actions carefully, Lavinia put a smile on her face. She did not wish to lose him. "Was it good news that the Marshal brought?" The question was not meant to receive a detailed answer. Lavinia often asked this and that but never really participated in the discussions of such matters. She was a woman, it was hardly her place.

"The same as always. He speaks of protecting the merchants," was the answer she was given. Putting away the document he had been reading, Baldwin analyzed the woman before him for a long moment. She seemed to have gotten over whatever had hurt her. A tremor passed through him, a stab of pain in his leg.

Noticing the sharp gasp, the woman promptly asked, "Do you wish me to call the physicians?"

"Nay, it serves for naught." He breathed again deeply. "They can do nothing for me."

"Wine, then?" She knew him well enough. At his nod, she picked a chalice and filled it with wine. Gently she handed it to him. "Shall I help you remove the mask?"

It would not have been the first time she had done it. Over the course of the past months Baldwin had become gradually more open towards her. At times he would even let her take his mask off. It was not often for he was not comfortable with it, but it did happen. Lavinia sneaked her hands behind the veil, pulling the knots apart.

His face had not been so greatly affected as some thought, but it did bear scars than ran lightly over his skin. His hair bore the same dark colour as his sister's and he stared at her with blue tinted orbs. There was one particulate wound at the corner of his mouth that was still raw. Lavinia did not know how he got it but supposed he may have unintentionally hit something.

Contrary to popular belief leprosy did not make one lose limbs. What did happen though was something else. Lepers could hardly feel pain even if they were cut. It made sense then, that they would not be able to tell when they were wounded. Thus before they noticed the laceration would get infected and to prevent the sepsis from spreading they would have to amputate. Luckily, Baldwin did not have much of a chance to receive such injuries.

In a motherly fashion, Lavinia brushed back a rebellious strand of hair. She would content herself with this. If she could not have him any other way, this would be enough. The young woman looked to the fading light, her heart heavy. She had to leave; otherwise she would not be able to make it home before sundown. The desert was a dangerous place, especially at night.

* * *

_**A/N: What change lies ahead? I'm telling you things will only get more complicated from here on. You've been warned.**_

_**On to nicer things, I am waiting to hear your thoughts on this chapter.**_


	4. Chapter 4

The ship sailed away, temporarily taking Lavinia's troubles with it. The woman sat astride on her horse watching the wooden structure disappear slowly. She breathed in relief, knowing that her brother was being taken far away at least for some time. Hopefully it would be enough for her to devise an escape plan. The situation Lavinia found herself in was not what one might call fortunate. Her brother had given her an ultimatum. She remembered the conversation clearly.

"This had been going on long enough," Alexander had exclaimed, his palm hitting the table top. "Sister, you know I am leaving soon, it is time we found you a husband." He had looked Lavinia up and down to make sure she was listening. "If you are always gone, I cannot make men take interest in you."

"There is hardly any need to rush so, brother," she had replied tersely. "The men are going nowhere. It is you who is leaving. Simply delegate this to the Marshal and he will see to it in your stead," Lavinia had reasoned, shaky fingers gripping the material of her dress.

"Lavinia, I had hoped you would obtain something out of this liaison of yours with the King, but you seem incapable of it. That is the only reason I let you carry on so," he had confessed. "When I leave you will need someone to take care of you. "

"I can take care of myself," she had countered forcefully. "And what do you mean by obtaining something. I was simply trying to be his friend-"

"Kings don't have friends," Alexander had coldly interrupted her. "Besides that he is a single man as you are a single young woman. Had you succeeded in becoming a mistress, I would have not complained. Your relationship with the King would have provided for all of your needs. And after his death doubtlessly there would have been lords enough willing to endorse you."

Her knees buckled, and Lavinia almost fell to the floor. What her brother was suggesting was preposterous. "I am not a woman of loose morals. I may not be a legitimate child but that doesn't give you the right to speak to me like that."

"You're taking this the wrong way," her brother had assured her, looking for a way to calm her down. "I have your best interests at heart."

"By telling me I should sell myself?" Her incredulous laughter had filled the room. "Have you no respect for me, not even a little bit? Think for a second about the words of God!" Her eyes full of tears, one escaping down her cheek. "I thought you cared about me."

"Do not mistake me," Alexander had yelled, finally exasperated of her tirade. "You are in no danger of becoming anyone's mistress, so calm yourself. You've proven that you cannot do that. I am to leave in a fortnight." He had regarded her with something akin to worry. "Tiberias will indeed take care of this matter. But listen well sister, I will come back to witness the ceremony."

And that left Lavinia struggling for the next two weeks to dissuade her brother from marrying her off. That hadn't worked out very well, she had to confess. Alexander was bent on marrying her. The only consolation was that Tiberias had made it a point not to search too seriously. That man was a blessing, Lavinia thought. She spurred the horse into action. "Let's go home," she said in its mane. Home, what a bitter thought it had become. She would soon be a prisoner in one such home. "I've changed my mind! Let's go ride in the desert!" she called back to the two servants who had joined her. "Qani, Jazib, be quick about it!"

The two men exchanged confused looks but still followed their mistress as she hurriedly left the port. Lavinia's reasons would not be shared with them. The truth of it was that she was tired, so very tired of being strong. She wanted to feel free, just for a little bit. Even if only for a moment, she wished to not worry and live with the fear of what was to come. Lavinia led them out in the wastes, pushing the beast underneath her as fast as it would go. The wind made her veil flutter and cooled her. She smiled in appreciation. So pleasing were these simple joys of life.

However, she had not realized her mistake until it was too late. Fatal it proved to be when an arrow flew past her, barely missing her head. Instead it embedded itself into Jazid's horse. The beast nickered in pain and tumbled down. Lavinia's own mount got spooked, rising on its hind legs. With a short scream she was ripped from her saddle and rolled across the desert floor. Qani tried to reach her but another arrow pierced the air and fell before his stallion's hooves.

"Saracen riders, m'lady!" Qani told her after dismounting. He helped her up and Jazib came next to them. The tree watched the approaching riders, two with curiosity and one with consternation. As if feeling her fright, Qani looked at her reassuringly. "Do not worry m'lady. They will not harm us."

"They harmed poor Ashk." Lavinia gently recoiled at the memory. Ashk had been the horse Jazib was riding. Any man who killed a beast was just as likely to lay waste to another human being. "How can you be so sure?"

"Arabs have a code of honour," Qani told her. He himself was an Arab. "They will not hurt you so long as they do not perceive you as a threat."

There was no more time to talk as four men now stood in front of them. Lavinia could not make out much of the conversation going on, her Arab was passable; however they spoke fast and there was little she understood. Her only reaction was to stand straighter when she recognized her name being mentioned. The strangers also seemed to take an interest in her as four pairs of eyes studied her closely. One of them shook his head at something Qani had said.

Apparently Jazib did not like the words exchanged for he said something that sounded like a protest. Then he turned to Lavinia, "They say we must follow them if we value our lives. I'm afraid they have no wish of letting us go now."

Dread bubbled in the woman's stomach. "Why? I have nothing to offer them. They cannot gain a thing from this."

"But they seem to think differently," Qani interrupted them. "This has to do with your last name. I do not know about your previous status, m'lady, but now you have wealth and a title. They will most certainly hold us for some time until they can get a ransom on us."

Not wasting another moment, Lavinia decided to bargain with them. "I have a proposition for you," she yelled to the one who seemed to be their leader. "Can you understand me, or should I have one of my men translate?"

"I speak your language, Christian," the man replied. "What do you wish to say to me?"

"Let both my men go," she insisted, her voice strong. "If you do so, I will come with you willingly. If not I will kill myself and you will gain nothing from this." She scrutinized the four men who looked at her with disbelief. "I am serious. I swear before my God that I will bite my tongue if you do not release them."

"You are not bluffing," the leader asserted. "It takes courage to face us so. I commend you, Christian. Very well, your men may go. But you, on the other hand, will come with us." He signalled to the others and two of his followers pulled Lavinia from between Qani and Jazib. "Who is your keeper?"

"The Marshal of Jerusalem," Lavinia said off the top of her head. In a way it was the truth, Alexander had left her in the care of Tiberias. "Why do you require the information?"

"We must know who our guest is," was the curt response. "Let one of my man cover your eyes with this," he handed a black piece of cloth that was promptly wrapped around Lavinia's head, obstructing her view. "Your can go now. Take both horses; we can accommodate the Christian."

"May I say my farewells?" she asked, somewhat subdued. There was a purpose to this behaviour. She wanted to tell them one last thing. Someone pushed her forward and two lean arms caught her. "Tell only the Marshal," she cautioned quietly. "If anyone else were to find out about this, it would do no good. There are those just waiting for a reason to strike."

Her motives were purely selfish. It was that sort of self-centeredness which took over people in love. Lavinia was in love and like all women who carried a man in their heart, she sought to protect hers. With distinct clarity she remembered her conversation with the King. Baldwin had hinted at a difficult situation. They might not win the war if they set to it and perhaps her abduction could be the apple of discord. She wanted no part in it. Lavinia barely registered the sound of hooves departing.

"I am Imad," the same man that had spoken to her earlier introduced himself. "You will ride with me. I shall be responsible for you until you are released in your keeper's hold." He picked her up with easy, as if she were a rag doll and forced her upon a horse. She felt him climb in behind her. "Fear not, the ride is not a very long one." And then he spoke no more.

Doubt and fear made Lavinia sit stiff. She did not move even when two hands brushed her sides. Although her body refused to respond to outer stimuli, her mind was rather active. All her thoughts were a jumbled mess pounding inside her skull. Hot air filled her lungs as she tried to stop herself from giving into despair. She was still alive, wasn't she? There was no point in loosing her head. The rational though sounded so balanced, so soothing, but Lavinia simply couldn't get herself calm enough to follow her own advice. Her heart and mind conspired against her. A chill crawled down her spine as she felt the movement speed down, until finally coming to a halt.

She was heaved down from her place and made to stand on her own two feet. However had helped her to the ground did not seem to be letting her go anytime soon, because a hand had remained firmly clamped on her forearm. Without a modicum of mercy she was dragged away, her eyes unseeing and her breath hitching. Lavinia thought she ought to consider herself lucky that they did not tie her arms and legs. As it was, there still existed a glimmer of hope. Her lack of sight was a major impediment but it meant one of two things. Either they would execute her, which was very unlikely, or they wanted to prevent her from seeing the way to their camp. The second one was far more plausible in light of the fact that they let her men go.

After a short walk, the strip of material was removed from her eyes. The first thing Lavinia saw three women regarding her with ill disguised curiosity. One of them approached her cautiously and gestured to her shoe clad feet. Blinking in shock, Lavinia slipped both feet out of their constrictions. The other female simply took the shoes and deposited them by the door.

"Aisha, Zeena and Mussah," Imad pointed to each girl. "They will take care of you during your stay with us," he explained. "But be warned, should you leave them punishment awaits you. Do not try us on this, Lady de Clerante."

Mussah, the last mentioned girl, nodded along with Imad's words. Lavinia had the sudden urge to smile at her antics. This girl clearly liked her captor. Lavinia, on the other hand, was miffed. Some of the tension in her muscles had eased, but this scene had not made her forget exactly where and what she was. Zeena took her by the elbow and gently pulled her towards a pile pillows. She sat down, taking Lavinia with her.

As Lavinia was getting settled in, two riders entered Jerusalem. Jazib jumped off his horse and nodded at Qani. "I shall alert the Marshal. In this time, I want you to go back home. Tell nobody of this."

"But, our mistress," Qani protested, "she is still trapped. How can you ask me to keep quiet?"

"I ask you because those were her orders," Jazib growled, his brows furrowing. "Listen here, we are to tell none but the Marshal. Now go."

Despite his objections, Qani was sent on his way. Jazib took the shortest road to his destination. His large hands were gripping the reins of the horse with such power that the skin had gone white. He was worried for the lass, their mistress. While he held no great affection for the girl she was good as far as mistresses went. She was fair and harsh if needed and stupidly forgiving at times. Jazib was aware that not many masters were that kind. It would be a loss for him and the others on de Clerante's land if she were to perish.

Even more, as the Lady had plainly observed, the incident could lead to an armed confrontation. Nobody despised war more than them, the poor of people of Jerusalem. In such times they were bound to lose everything they had gained in a lifetime's work. Neither Muslims, nor Christians spared them. Of course the soldiers needed food and water. It remained unmentioned that they also needed to have fun, and seldom did they found anything better than ganging up on the civilians or chasing the young women. God, or Allah, or whatever name they gave to the Creator, did not get involved in the troubles of mortals. He was above all.

Jazib entered with a heavy heart. The Marshal barely raised his eyes from what he was reading. ""What do you wish to tell me?"

"I was sent by my Lady de Clerante to ask a favour of you, my lord." Jazib waited for the words to sink in before he continued. "We were riding in the desert when a group of Saracens happened upon us. They caught my lady and demand a price to deliver her back." He related the rest of the event.

"Damnation!" the Marshal cursed. He had known this was to come. The Saracens had a right to this small revenge for all those caravans. Tiberias had known very well that they left no debt unpaid. The worst was that they had taken exactly the woman the King seemed to favour. "How much?"

"They said they will send word," the servant answered with a shrug. "My lady had named you as her keeper."

Tiberias nodded his head in acknowledgement. "She did well. I fear the implications of this. Who else knows?"

"Only you my lord, and the other servant with her, Qani. The lady gave us strict orders not to tell anyone else." Jazib stopped talking. His eyes followed the other man who was now pacing the floor.

"Wise of her," the Marshal commented. The gears turned in his head. He would have to let the King know. There was no getting past his sovereign, even less so now that it involved a mission that would no doubt require funding. "I shall wait, then, as must you. This conversation between us, forget it. It did not take place. Now leave with words that your mistress is visiting Cana."

It was thus that Tiberias found himself in the King's chambers. The young leader was surprised to see him. "Marshal, what brings you here, this late in the evening?"

"I bring news, my liege," he offered, schooling his features. "There has been an incident, I'm afraid." The King was watching him intently, silently urging him on. "You are aware of the many caravans that found their doom, recently," he paused, waiting for recognition. "The Saracens have retaliated, although not on such a grand scale. They have taken a hostage, shall we say?"

"Who are you referring to, Tiberias?" Baldwin asked. "If it is someone of importance, they will demand a ransom."

"This person had potential," Tiberias responded. "We are referring to someone held in high regard."

"Marshal, I grow weary of this game," the king said. "Give me a name and a sum."

"Lady Lavinia de Clerante is the unfortunate victim and a sum had not yet been demanded," was the answer to be given.

The King stood up, bracing himself with the help of his hands. "Are you certain? What is the source of your information?"

"A servant who was with the lady at the time the kidnapping occurred. He was released specially to carry the message." Tiberias regarded the King with some worry.

"And she is unharmed? Do you know?" Baldwin fell back in his chair. "How could this happen, Tiberias?" The only thing the Marshal could do was sake his head. There had been nothing said about her state. Tiberias had not thought to ask, but considering the servants had said nothing, his mistress could not be injured; at least upon his departure. "I want to be informed the moment anything appears. I want assurance of her safety." His voice had been forceful, as if he were straining. "I want to be left alone."

His wish was granted without another word. Baldwin's hands gripped the edge of his desk with a force he hadn't known he possessed. How could this be? Only a few days ago Lavinia had been here, playing chess with him as she was wont to do. "Am I not wretched enough, Holy God?" One of the few good things that had happened to him was in unspeakable peril. Not for the first time, Baldwin felt a weight settle over him, pushing his shoulders down. Aggravated, he lashed out. "Must she be taken from me? What is the reason? What am I being punished for?"

No answer came to him. A bitter sort of chuckle passed his lips, a self-deprecating sound. He took out his quill. His shaky, left hand scribbled down a letter. Once done, he bound it and put his seal on it. "Take this to the Marshal; he will know what to do with it. And get me Godfrey de Ibelin." A servant came forward at his words and took the letter. A silk clad hand came to rest upon the mask.

"I am helpless," he whispered. Grief and rage mixed within him. His good hand tugged harshly at the bonds holding the mask over his face. He threw the thing away as soon as he got the knot untied. Looking down at his hand, he felt the urge to scream out. Why was he stuck here, unable to do anything? Stupid girl, he scolded her in his head. Why had she gone to ride in the desert? Were the lands of her brother not providing enough space for her? And in that moment he was angry at both himself and Lavinia.

The doors opened to reveal Godfrey. "My liege," he greeted the young King. Sombre eyes took in the image Baldwin exhibited. "What has happened?"

While playing as a child with a few other boys, Baldwin had cut his hand. The physicians had fussed over him, applying all sorts of ointments to his wound. They were so busy treating that injury the problem had escaped them completely. They had thought he was being brave when he answered that he felt no pain. It was Godfrey who put two and two together. He was the one who figured out not all was fine with the boy. Later, tears ran down his face as he told Baldwin's father that the boy was ill; that he was a leper. He was also one of the few who did not shudder upon seeing him without the mask.

"Come forward, Godfrey," Baldwin invited. "I have just received some indisposing news." He considered the man before him for a minute longer. "I have need of your skills."

"Anything that is within my power," Godfrey answered without a moment's hesitation. He was obvious that something grave had brought his master in such a state. Usually, the King was calm and collected. Seeing him lose his head, made one worry. "How may I be of assistance to you?"

"You are acquainted with Lord de Clerante's sister?" the King questioned, blue eyes flashing in the dim light.

"I believe I am." Curious of the reason he continued. "Why do you ask, my King?"

"The Saracens have her." Baldwin watched his loyal follower, catching the disbelief on his features. "I want her back, Godfrey. I want her unharmed," he stated clearly. "If she is not so upon my next sighting of her," he let the rest trail off into silence.

"I will make sure that the lady is brought back without a scratch," Godfrey gave his word. "Has there a sum been named?"

"Nay. You are to take care of that too, with the help of the Marshal," Baldwin told the man. "However, you report back to me. Every little detail is to be known to me."

"Is there anything else I should be aware of?" added Godfrey after a brief pause. "Is there nothing known about her captors other than that they are Saracens?"

"Do you think it an attempt to obtain revenge?" Baldwin asked back, aware of the thought going through Godfrey's mind. He had thought of that too. And who wouldn't. "To be honest, I do not know. I am thinking that if it were revenge they wanted, she would've been dead."

"Mayhap, they wish to use her against us," Godfrey offered. It was entirely plausible. "She is good bait, as far as they are concerned. If not for someone of importance, then at least for her keeper. They could trade her for the fortification that rests on her lands."

"Do you think they are trying to wage war? The treaty with Saladin still holds," were the King's words. "In fact, I have written to him in regards to these concerns."

The hours trickled slowly, especially for Lavinia. Aisha, Mussah and Zeena did not speak a word of their guest's language. As amusing as it was to watch them struggled to tell her something, Lavinia quickly grew bored with the exercise. She let her whole weight drop of the pillows and stood there unmoving. It was to no avail that one of the girls tried to get her up. She would not cooperate.

In truth, the only thing Lavinia desired was for these people to leave her alone. The problem was that they were not so different from Christians. Not different at all even. Their children ran out, playing in the road, the women took care of the house and the men fought. The only distinction was that God was Allah. It did not take much search to figure out that the commandments were very alike. The same things were preached. For the life of her, Lavinia could not understand why they could not live in peace. Why was it so hard for them to get along?

Zeena knelt before Lavinia and held out a bowl. She placed it in the other woman's hands and then mimicked the action of eating. Lavinia stared down at the food thoughtfully. Could she place her trust in these people? She shook her head and made to give Zeena the bowl back. The Arab woman furrowed her brows. Then her face lit and she took a spoon. Dipping it in the contents of the plate she filled it, bringing it up to her mouth and swallowing.

Seemingly convinced, Lavinia took the spoon from Zeena. She ate a spoonful, using the time to assess her surroundings. She had been brought in a tent of sorts. It was certainly spacious, however she could tell only females inhabited it. The place was full of fabrics, jewellery and she could even see bottles of perfume. A dry smile made it way to Lavinia's lips. This was something indeed, she decided. She pointed to a red fabric with golden embroidery. "Can I see that?"

Instantly understanding what the foreigner was asking, Zeena rose rapidly. She grabbed the material and dragged it to Lavinia's feet. She said something Lavinia could not understand and then smiled brightly, revealing pearly white teeth. Lavinia simply nodded her head and started feeling the material. It was gauzy, beautiful in a delicate way and no doubt very frail. Just like women, Lavinia thought with a hint of irony. There was some truth to her way of thinking. Women had little to none brute strength and often had to use other methods of getting their way.

But the point was not that. Putting the gauze down, Lavinia stared into Zeena's eyes. "I don't want to die," she confessed, "and I'm terribly afraid of getting hurt. You can't understand a word I'm saying but I'm hoping that you'll be kind. You may think you have no reason to, but please consider that I'm a woman just like you. What I'm trying to say is that I have a reason to want to live."

"Insha'Allah," Zeena replied. She added a string of words that made little sense to Lavinia and put her hand on the young woman's hand in a motherly gesture meant to offer comfort.

"Insha'Allah ," Lavinia agreed, letting the hand on top of her head brush through her hair. "Do not mistake me; I am, still planning to get back to my people when the occasion arises."

The flaps of the tens trembled, signalling the arrival of another person. Zeena whirled around and bowed to the man who had just entered. Lavinia looked at the man curiously. "As-salamu alaykunna," the man greeted them in a thick voice. Lavinia had recognized the words as a variation of a well know salutation in the Muslim world.

"Wa alaykumu salamu," the three women greeted and Lavinia joined them, although she did not bow, only slightly inclined her head. She could feel the man's eyes upon her, yet did not raise her chin until he spoke. His words prompted the other three women to leave the tent.

"You are the Lady of Clerante?" he asked in her own tongue to Lavinia's great surprise. She nodded, waiting to see what it was that he wanted. "Do you know who I am, child?" he addressed her softly, almost kindly. At the shake of her head, he chuckled. "I am Salah al-Din."

"It is an honour to meet you," Lavinia responded without missing a beat, She was determined to not show her discomfort around this man. She let him analyze her, all the while wondering what he could want from her in these conditions.

"Have you been harmed?" he asked with an air of nonchalance.

"Nay, I have not." She met his fathomless eyes of black ice. "Is there a point to his?"

"There is always a point," was the reply she got. "Sit." He followed his own words and took a seat upon one of the pillows. Lavinia mirrored him. "Your King writes to me on your behalf. The child wishes you back safely within the castle walls. Who are you?"

"Certainly not who you think I am," Lavinia said in a way that made Saladin grin. "I am the sister of Lord Alexander de Clerante. No less and no more."

Saladin said something in that unknown language. Lavinia waited for him to elaborate. As if catching onto it, the Muslim leader inclined his head at her. "You are in luck. I am merciful."

Biting her tongue, Lavinia opted to keep silent. She did not understand what mercy he was referring to but she supposed he was speaking of not parting her head from the rest of her body. "I thank you," she finally managed to gasp out.

"Imad has already left," was the next thing Saladin uttered. With that he rose to his feet and nodded at her one last time before turning around and exiting the tent. "A good night to you, Christian."

There was no response from Lavinia who was too bust contemplating what she had just found out. It surprised her somewhat that the King himself had taken written to Saladin. But on the other hand, she had expected something like that. Or more accurately, she had been hoping that would be the course of action he would take. It paid to have such people looking after her.

Outside the tent, Saladin was holding council with one of his man. The subordinate was confused and could not help the questions leaving his mouth. "Why are we treating her so well? She is a Christian. They murdered Muslims without a second thought."

"Are you saying that this woman killed our brothers?" Saladin pressed the man for an answer, well aware that the man would not be able to produce a satisfactory reply.

"She is a woman!" exclaimed the assistant, more than a little irked at the suggestion. "She has no business holding a weapon just as she had no business riding in the desert on her own."

"Calm yourself," came the answer of Saladin like a whip. "We have established that she is not responsible for the death of our brothers? Good. This woman has done nothing to us. Her only fault is being reckless."

"The Christians showed no mercy when they took Jerusalem," the man pointed out, in hoped of making the leader she things his way. "They killed every Muslim."

"This serves to show their mediocrity," Saladin countered acidly. "I am Salah al-Din, not any of those men you speak of. Be careful least you wish to lose your tongue. Guards are to keep the woman safe until she is delivered back to her own."

The man bowed. A direct order could not be ignored, unless one was ready to die. "I shall see to it." However he did throw a hateful glare towards the tent and its resident.

* * *

_**A/N: So, here you have the next chapter. I did promise complications and I have delivered. Are you curious about what will happen? Are you? Well, good. You'll have to wait and see. There is nothing better than a little bit of suspense. I will try not to keep you waiting very long. Though I hope this chapter will keep you busy for a little while longer. **_

_**Anyway, feel free to drop a line. Tell me what's going through you head. Did I do a good job with this chapter? What is your opinion? And yes, I am fishing for compliments. Hoping my skills are good enough. :) 'Till next time! **_


	5. Chapter 5

Godfrey stayed his horse, wiping the sand from his face. His eyes blinked away the saltiness of his sweat and she sighed. Was this really God's plan for them, he wondered. Couldn't Christians and Saracens get along for more than a short period of time? Perhaps in the absence of men like Guy, came the bitter realisation. But such fiends were not easy to get rid of.

"Whatever it is you are thinking about, have a care not to overexert yourself," drawled Tiberias, not without some humour.

"The only one taxed by thinking, my dear friend, is you," was the quick reply. "I have yet to go endless days without speaking, locked in my chambers, just me and my thought."

"It was three days," corrected the Marshal. "And I did speak to others."

"Slaves and servants do not count." Godfrey avoided the fist coming straight to his face. "Are you sure Saladin will listen to the King's request?"

"That is what I am hoping," Tiberias answered, unsure. "There is only hope I have, I'm afraid."

"Better to have that at least," the other commented, squinting his eyes at a far off point ahead. "What is that?" He pointed to a cloud of dust shining in the sun. "Could it be a rider?"

And indeed a few moments later from the same accumulation of dust, a steed charged for them at high speed. On it sat a young man unknown to both Marshal and knight. They waited for him to get closer with ill-disguised impatience.

"As-salamu alaykuma," the man greeted as he hopped off his horse, pulling the beast after him.

"Wa alaykum salam," Tiberias replied while Godfrey inclined his head. "We have been hoping to find you." He discreetly scanned the man intending to judge his strength and skill.

"I am here. You may call me Imad." The Arab too watched hem with careful eyes. "My master, Salah al-Din has sent me to reach an understanding with you."

"Our King wishes one thing only," Godfrey spoke. "The Lady of Clerante's freedom. Name your price," he persisted at the disoriented look on Imad's face.

"And he shall have it," Imad agreed after a moment's hesitation. "Have no fear, the lady is safe for the time being. "

"Tell us what you wish in exchange for her," Tiberias said simply. He would not fall in a game with this man. Unyielding determination filled his eyes, his back straightening. He could no longer feel the burn of the sun or the drops of sweat trickling downwards.

"My master wishes to know one thing." The Saracen nodded at them. "If you answer this question the Lady shall be delivered to Jerusalem without fail."

"And the question is?" Tiberias asked. He held little trust for the man but his King had ordered that any price be paid for his Lady.

A gust of wind blew past them, rising sand with it. The small grains glued themselves to the wet, uncovered skin. Godfrey swiped at it angrily. Tiberias was stoically waiting for the question to be spoken. As for Imad, he was scrutinizing the two men before him.

Silently he could not help himself but wonder why his master wanted peace with them. The army of Saladin counted so many; he could easily crush Jerusalem and every knight that stood in his way. They would not stand a chance in front of such a force. The Christian King was no more than a boy. A sickly one at that, it had to be said. He was a leper who did not have all that much left of his life. That thought prompted an analysis of the captive he had brought to camp. That woman they called Lady of Clerante.

She was homely, her features passable and her smile pleasant. Her voice was high and clear, her eyes daring. She had a certain something about her that had nothing to do with physical beauty. She attracted through a gesture or a word. Her reactions were infinitely more interesting to watch than the swell of her chest or the pursing of her lips. Could it be that the leper boy found her just as fascinating? And she, did she attach herself to a doomed man? If so, would she be able to bear loosing him when that time came? For it would came, Imad knew al too well. For her sake, the Arab hoped she would. To be frank, he admired the woman a little too much for his liking. He shook his head to get rid of that thought.

Imad had only spent a few hours in her presence but he liked her well enough. She was a good woman for a Christian and what surprised him was that unlike most noble women, she did not lose her head. Instead of panicking and doing something tactless, she had chosen to play the pliant victim. Even so, Imad had felt the venom in her stare. He smiled discreetly. If only the other Christians were like her, he thought, the world could be better. He understood the dislike in her eyes but he could also respect the fact that she treated them all with courtesy, although reserved. That was perfectly understandable in her circumstances. Saladin too had remarked upon her feigned obedience with some amusement while also pointing out that if she lived she had the chance of becoming important.

"Why is it that you attacked those caravans?" That had been the question his master had wanted Imad to ask. "Salah al-Din wishes to know. That is the price."

Tiberias groaned, like an animal in pain. "It was not the King who ordered the attack," he explained. "Guy de Lusignan is responsible. Long have we been looking for punishment in his case. His title protects him."

"Make it so that he does not reach a Saracen caravan again," Imad ordered with steel in his voice. "If not, my master will not forgive this so easily."

"And the girl?" Godfrey asked, the sword heavy at his hip. "When will she be brought back?"

"The next caravan will bring her," Imad informed them with a somewhat cruel glint in his eyes. "I guess you had better make sure they do not suffer any surprise assaults if you wish her back alive."

At the same time, deep in the desert, Lavinia rested in the Saracen camp. All night she had slept under a thick blanket, sharing a mattress with Aisha. She longed to be back in Jerusalem. She wanted to see her King's face and play chess with him. Here, among strangers she feared she might never see him again. Who was to say they would not kill her when the chance presented itself.

So far, the women who cared for her tried to make her comfortable. Lavinia appreciated that, but was mindful not to let herself fall into lethargy, or too great a calmness. She needed her vigilance. Slowly she picked up a pomegranate, cutting it with a small knife. Zeena took one half and put pins on the low table. Lavinia took one of them and pierced a seed. She brought it in her mouth, chewing with no hurry. It was not like she was going anywhere.

Outside the tent two burly men kept guard. As much as they treated her with gentleness, it had been made clear that she would suffer if she tried anything foolish. Mussah was drying Lavinia's hair with practiced ease. Zeena was telling them something the Christian woman could not understand and they all laughed loudly.

Then, shyly, as if frightened, Aisha sat down closer to Lavinia. In a slurred and broken Latin she addressed a question. "Is it the truth what they say of your King? Is he ill?" Something must have flashed in Lavinia's eyes for the other hurriedly added, "I am just curious. I mean no harm. Peace."

"He is ill, as you put it," Lavinia bit out, using the same language. With tremendous attention she searched their faces for a reaction. She was surprised to say at least.

"My people believe 'tis vanity he is being punished for," Aisha explained, then translated what had been said to the rest of them.

"What vanity?" Lavinia chided softly. "You judge without knowing him." Her face had flushed a dull red. "It is a pity that you do so." A cold sort of smile moulded her lips, stretching them. After that she ate in silence. Her thought fled away with her, she needed the seclusion quietness gave. If only to put order in her head, Lavinia sighed at that. Baldwin seemed to be her weak spot. She just could not decide whether that was a good thing, or a bad thing. Maybe it was both, as most things were in her world.

She could not wait to talk to him again. Lavinia missed his voice, she missed his presence. Despite her brother's wish, she would rather become an old maid. She was a bit old for marriage as it was. A woman of seventeen without a husband and children was a rare sight indeed. But Lavinia was determined; she would drive any suitor away. And perhaps that way she could stay with her King and be his chess partner for as long as they had together.

A short man entered the tent, a look of disdain on his face. He said something to Zeena who nodded her head. Then he turned to Lavinia. "Master Salah al-Din requests your company."

Aisha nudged her. Without protest Lavinia climbed to her feet and walked after the man. He led her across what looked like a camp. There were many tents but few people. Perhaps it was a military camp. If so, why did they have women with them? Why not keep them safe, in a close by village?

Entering the new tent, Lavinia took the time to observe her surroundings. This was far bigger than the one she shared with the three women and was clearly male dominated. On the walls hung swords of many kinds, and other battle gear could also be seen. Saladin was seated on a low sofa with pillows around him. Once he noticed her presence, he beckoned her forward.

"Come, sit here, child," he said in that gravelly voice, heavily accented.

Doing his bidding Lavinia took her place in his vicinity, on the indicated pillow. She found it somewhat strange to be seated at a man's feet. This had not happened to her since she was a child. "You wished to see me?"

"You will tell me who you are. This time speak," he told her commandingly. "I will tolerate no lie from you, child. Do not forget that your life is in my hands."

"I am the sister of Lord Alexander de Clerante," Lavinia replied shortly. The stare Saladin levelled at her made her feel like a scolded child. "I do not understand what you wish to hear. I hold no other title than that."

"Be that as it may," Saladin countered, "I am unconvinced. Why would the King himself write on your behalf if you were not of importance?"

"Perhaps my value is of the sentimental kind," she offered with a hint of sarcasm. "I myself do not know why he did that. My keeper is the Marshal."

"And the King?" the Arab asked, feeling that she was not telling him everything. "How do you know him?"

"We play chess," Lavinia admitted after a short period of hesitation. It was an innocent enough answer, but it also made it clear that there was more to it.

"There are many capable of playing chess," the Saracen leader pointed out. "What makes you special? Child, I think you are refusing to see what is in front of you."

"I am refusing nothing," she protested. "Because there is nothing in front of me. Why do you seek to make more of what I've said then there is it?"

Saladin smiled, a wolfish grin that stretched over his face. "You are young and unknowing, child. Keep your eyes open," he advised solemnly. "Perhaps you would like to play a game of chess with me."

It was not an offer Lavinia could refuse. Naturally, she gave a sharp nod to the man before her. Moments later a chess board was placed in front of them and the game begun. She found, with some shock, that Saladin was a skilled player. She had not thought that he had time for such activities with his position. Lavinia had been unaware of many things, but now that she had the chance to learn, she would not be deluded.

Rather unwillingly, she had to admit that his technique was more refined than hers. She would lose this fight, Lavinia decided with one look to the board. There was little hope for her to reach his King now, when he was so close to her Queen. A flash lit Lavinia's eyes; she had to protect the Queen. Try as she might, she was helpless.

"Checkmate," Saladin ended the game. "It was a good game. So you have not lied."

"I do not make it a habit to lie," Lavinia responded. So it had been a test. He wanted to see her play, in order to determine her skill and by that the truth of her words. "But how do you know that I spoke the truth?"

"A simple matter. If you had lied your game would have been weak." When noting the doubtful look on her face, he elaborated. "Had you not been playing this game lately, it would have shown in your strategy."

"But you bested me in such short a time," she said even more confused. "What skill can I have? What strategy?"

"It is not always about winning, child. Sometimes you have to lose in order to learn." His dark eyes fixed her. "Has your attention been of the game?"

"Of course," Lavinia exclaimed. "I have even taken the time to analyze the strategy you've used."

"Then you time had not been wasted," Saladin confirmed. "Losing has served you this time. When we next play, I will wish to see how your skills have progressed."

"You say that as if it will be a long time until then. For what reason do you say it?" Lavinia questioned. "I am your captive. You only have to initiate such a game."

The Saracen offered her no direct answer. "When Imad returns with the price paid for you, a few of my riders will deliver you back to Jerusalem. But not before he returns and not if I am not satisfied." He studied her reaction. Those umber eyes lit at the prospect of going home, he saw. Indeed she was more than a simple game partner to the leper child, Saladin was sure. "Should I be displeased, you will be the one to pay. Mayhap 'tis better that you go pray. Your God may show you mercy in this, child."

"I have prayed already. If it is fated that I die here, then I cannot escape it. Whether I leave by dying or by being liberated, I shall be free," Lavinia concluded. "And when I am free I shall remember your kindness. It is the least I can do, for you could have treated me far worse than you have. I am thankful, not defeated." Her arms coiled around her protectively. "I am in the hand of God. In Him I trust, for He shall be my salvation. As you believe Allah guides you, I am certain God protects his children."

"Does your God revel in the destruction you cause in His name?" Saladin asked, almost derisively. "Is he pleased with your blood offerings?"

"He demands no such offerings," Lavinia corrected the man. "I speak of faith, nor religion. In the name of one religion or another, atrocious crimes have been committed. Those are regrettable deeds. It is unfair to judge us by them."

"And yet, everyday their number grows." He took a fruit from a plate, peeling the skin off. "Can they not be controlled?"

"There are those who try," she assured Saladin. "But they are few and not yet strong enough. There will come a day when the need for criminals will perish. At this moment they are of use."

"You believe not what you say," Saladin said, easily detecting the tremble of her voice. "Then why say it?"

"This is how it has been explained to me," Lavinia justified, suddenly weary. "I am a woman. As a general rule we have little power. Even less in the face of important men. Such men take it upon themselves to bring harm and war here."

"Then I am compelled to retaliate. My lenience will not hold out forever," he warned. "Tell your King that. Word for word, tell him what I said."

"You have my word. The King shall hear this," she promised; her face serious. "But why tell me this? Why not write to the King?"

"Fanatics are not limited to one side," Saladin clarified for her sake. "I have men asking for war and you Christians, Allah knows, give me enough reasons to start one. That time had not yet come."

"I pray we see that day when we live in peace. I can say no more than that." The woman smiled sadly. "It is not my King's wish for a war to break out."

"Your King is no fool," Saladin agreed. "But even he cannot do much in his state. Am I wrong? Snakes take advantage of that. They use this weakness of the body against him. Find a way to stop them before I take matters into my own hands."

The threat had not been an empty one and Lavinia understood that. "There will be no need for such an intervention. All shall be taken care of." She promised herself that her words would hold true. Lavinia would convince the King to take measures. "All shall be taken care of in due time."

If the king could be prevailed upon; if Sibylla could be convinced to give up her husband. So many ifs; they make Lavinia's head spin. Something had to be done. And it had to happen soon. Were it not so, destruction waited. No one would walk away unscathed. This was the world they lived in.

In Jerusalem the atmosphere was tense. Baldwin was nervously awaiting news from his Marshal. For him it was the worst feeling, being crushed by uncertainty. The lack of answers and knowledge ate away at him, like rust did to a once polished sword. He was alone, surrounded by machinating servants. Tiredness crept into his bones, a fatigue far more sever than the one imposed on him by his illness. His very soul was weary. The situation was not helped any by the interference of his sister.

Sibylla stood before her brother, eyes cast downward. "I pray that you would show mercy, my King. This once, at least." It was a plea on the behalf of her husband. It was not done out of love for Guy, though Sibylla did hold some affection for the man who played father for her son. It was duty that forced to make the request. If indeed Baldwin punished Guy, the balance of power would be destroyed, annulled. She could not permit that, for the safety of their people.

"And how many times after that, my dear sister?" Baldwin asked, his voice cold and flinty. "If I forgive him now, he will take it into his head that his actions are not condemnable. He will continue to act thus, and all of us will suffer from it. Is that what you wish?"

She licked her lips. "I want the peace to be kept. I wish for the balance to remain among us. But for that to happen, you must pardon my husband."

"You doom me and the whole of Jerusalem, sister. Can you live with that?" The King genuinely loved his sister. However he could not understand why she opposed so greatly to the punishing of her husband. "I have no intention of execute him. But I cannot leave this unpunished."

The princess bowed her head. "I understand. Thank you, brother. Know that I am grateful." A sorrowful little smile graced her features. "I do not do this out of pleasure or some sort of perversion. This decision has been made for me by mother. You know that. I must live with it."

"And not so long ago you were a cheerful bride," Baldwin remembered. "Such innocence."

"Such foolishness," she corrected. "I was young and thoughtless. At that age I thought him the bravest and the greatest and the most handsome. After my son's father had just died, Guy seemed my salvation. I thought he loved me."

"The blame is not yours," conceded the King. "You could not have know. Let us leave it at that, sister. If William had lived you would not have to suffer so."

"Dear William," Sibylla remembered her first husband fondly. "I wish at times to go back. If I could see him again, tell him of our son."

"This shall not happen again, Sibylla." Baldwin let himself relax. "If Guy cannot be controlled then I wash my hands of him. I have no need of a man who endangers us all."

"So be it, my King, brother." Sibylla had not raised her eyes from the ground. She could hardly bare to look upon him at times such as this. How could she face the disappointment in his stare? For all his faults, Guy was her husband. And Baldwin was her brother. The princess was torn in two. Which side was she supposed to chose? Who did she stand by? She had no answer for these questions. It tortured her. Caught between spouse and sibling, neither choice would leave her without emotional bruises.

When William, her first husband, died, Sibylla had though she knew grief. It ripped her heart apart to have her husband taken from her. All the more she suffered when she remembered his kindness. No man could compare to him, she decided. Mourning the departed one occupied her days, she soon have birth to her son. As per custom she named his Baldwin, after her brother. Still, she ached for William; she missed her husband terribly those few months after his death. She was a girl of merely fifteen, a new mother and all alone despite the many servants milling about her.

Then along came Guy. He was charming and courteous. Her mother, Agnes, was instantly taken with the young man. It was she who introduced her widowed daughter to the heir of Lusignan. At first Sibylla had been reticent, but little by little, Guy won her over. He was preoccupied by her son's future, telling her all sorts of wonderful plans he had for the boy. In short time, Sibylla too looked upon him with fondness and friendship. From that point to becoming his wife there was only a small step. Agnes had spoken for the match and Baldwin, young as he was then, saw fit to agree.

And so it was that Sibylla married Guy. For a time they were the happiest people, Sibylla fancied. Nothing could come between them. Nothing could break their little family. Guy was supportive of her; he seemed to tolerate being near her brother better than others. He watched her with warmth and, most importantly, he cared for small Baldwin. She had thought her world complete. She had been genuinely convinced that nothing could go wrong the second time around. But all of her confidence turned to dust, so easily blown by the wind in a matter of months. She soon saw the error of her ways.

It turned out that Guy was an excellent actor. He had everybody fooled. After a few short months of pretending to be a good man he grew tired and disposed of his guise. That was when his true colours started showing. He was cruel, unfair and uncaring. Sibylla suffered greatly. But she decided that, as it had been her own choice, she would have to stand by it. The princess would have to stay by the man she chose to build a home with. With tears in her eyes and a bitter smile on her lips, Sibylla would embrace her son and shield him from this man she had joined herself to.

"Would you tell me," she began, "What it is you are waiting for? You do not sleep, nor do you eat. I see you are burdened by something. Would you not share it with me?"

Blinking away the thoughts that clouded his mind, Baldwin regarded his sister in silence. He considered telling her. "It is nothing you may help me with."

"Even so, share this with me," he beseeched. "Just like when we were young. Do you remember? There were no secrets between us then."

"There are no secrets now," Baldwin offered. "You are my sister. I wish to hide nothing from you."

"Then tell me what bothers you. Perhaps I can give some advice," she suggested placidly. "You cannot know unless you try."

In the back of his mind, Baldwin prayed for forgiveness for he would lie. "It is a matter of the heart." It would not do for Guy to somehow find out about Lavinia's abduction. Baldwin refused to give him such a pretext.

"Are we talking about the delightful Lady de Clerante?" Sibylla smiled mischievously, a look rarely seen upon her face.

"You read me so well," Badwin answered. "Yes, we are. I am confused. Unsure what to do, if you will." All lies, he thought while speaking. He planned to do nothing in regards to Lavinia. Things were fine as they were. Or should he have said they would be fine once she returned.

"Only because you make it easy for me," she replied instantly. "To be honest, I think there is little required on your part. She is fond of you, if you care for my opinion. But you know, it can hurt nothing to be a little bold. I say you give her a sign."

It was on the tip of his tongue to call her crazy. How could a woman with all her life before her love him, a doomed man? "Sister, I am sure you misplace her affection."

"Do not belittle yourself, brother," Sibylla chided harshly. "Stop looking at me like that. Even though you refuse to believe me, I am telling you this: the Lady Lavinia looks upon you with tenderness. I know it for I have seen them before. You deserve to be loved and she deserves it too."

"Yes, she does. She also deserves to grow old with the man she loves. She deserves to hold her baby in her arms and watch her children grow at the side of her husband. And I cannot give her that," he confided in his sister. "I shall not live to see that."

"It is wrong of you to decide for both without even asking her." The princess put a hand on his gloved one. "Live is not meant to be lived just anyway. You are being given a chance now. Take it."

"And hurt her for a few short seasons of my pleasure. Tie her to me only to leave her defenceless after I am gone? What good does that do?" Baldwin questioned both his sister's logic and that of himself, for his heart urged him to accept the opportunity.

"Love is the strongest defender. Love her and it shall keep her well protected even after you are gone," the woman encouraged, drawing closer to him. "Those few seasons in your company will light her days of loneliness."

"Condemn her to the existence of a shadow?" Disbelief flowed freely in his voice. "I cannot do that. I cannot be that cruel."

"You are being cruel by denying this," Sibylla pointed out with something akin to objection. "A shadow she will be perhaps. A shadow who has known the warmth and affection of another is still happier than the person who is being deprived of such things. You will make both of you unhappy."

"And what of the home every woman wishes for? What about the sons and daughters she will never have?" he could not help throwing at his sister.

"Miracles come to the believers. Keep you faith," she tried to convince him. "Ultimately it is your decision, but consider her feelings also."

Little could the King say to his sister's words. "I need time to think these matters." Everything seemed to attack him all at once, thoughts crashing together. His head ached from trying to keep them clear and separated. "I need time."

"There is time enough," Sibylla softly said, retracting her hand. "Think about this well. Your decision has consequences on both of you."

The sister of the King left him in peace. She left him alone with his thoughts, whatever those were. She considered it best if she did not interfere anymore than she had. She stood by what she said; it was his decision. She could only offer whatever advice she thought right. And to her Lavinia was the best choice for her brother. She had spoken the truth about sensing the girl held affection for her brother. It was evident every time she saw them together. Those smiles, those sparkling eyes and tiny touches; Sibylla knew they all betrayed Lavinia's feelings.

"Stubborn fool," she said, half turning to the closed door of her brother's rooms. "In the end you will see I am right." It was her hope that Baldwin acquired a companion to care for him, in the way she had cared for William or for Guy later on. Love was such a beautiful thing if one knew to enjoy it and not fret over what might be. Especially in the case of her brother. "God, I pray you open his eyes for he does not listen to my words." Would God listen? "I beg that you let him have at least this. Let him love and be loved. Let his pain be soothed."

God did not reply. He never did, Sibylla observed. It was not He who had to give them answers. He had set a path for them to walk and they were responsible for the choices they made. Still, Sibylla wished that this once the Father would guide her brother. "If you have any loves for us, your creations, then do this for the sake of my brother. And for the sake of the girl too. Both of them need one another, I'm sure you know it."

* * *

**_A/N: Fifth chapter's here for your enjoinment. What are your thoughts so far? Are you pleased with the direction this is going in? I know I am. You may wonder why I didn't simply deliver Lavinia back to her King. There is a reason. And you will find out exactly why in the next instalment._**

**_Until that time you are free to leave me some reviews. Don't be shy, you know I don't bite (unless provoked; mind you my teeth are blades of sarcasm if you irk me). Soon enough we will have serious problems. And by problems I mean the one and only Reynald de Chatillon. Does that sound good, plot wise, of course? _**


	6. Chapter 6

"I want to play!" little Baldwin yelled out, his small arms flailing about in indignation. "I want to go out in the gardens!" He trashed in the hold of his attendant, eyes filling with tears of frustration. "Where is my lady? I want her to take me out to the gardens!"

His lady was the name given to Lavinia de Clerante, the servants knew. The small prince could be quite fussy when he wished . He was also rather spoiled in his own way. Apparently, that came with being royalty. Whatever he wished for, he got. Not used to being denied anything, on those rare occasions that such events occurred, he would react in an almost violent manner.

"Bring me my lady!" the child screeched. The shouts turned into hiccups as the boy started crying. Tears streamed down his face, his nose growing red. It was to no avail that the woman holding him tried comforting Baldwin. He set in his wish to be inconsolable until his lady appeared to soothe him. "

Sibylla's son had formed quite a passion for that woman who could be often found in the company of the King. It all had to do with the fact that Lavinia paid attention to the boy. As the child of a princess he lacked a warm environment, that kind established in the lower classes where strictures were fewer. It was not that the King's sister did not love her son, she simply expressed it rarely. Lavinia on the other hand ho no qualms in showering the child with affection. It was natural that he came to look upon her as a second mother.

Extended periods of time of Lavinia's absence made small Baldwin difficult to deal with. And indeed she hadn't come to see the child in a few days. It had been a wonder for the servants too, for they had been accustomed to call upon the king's private library to let the woman know that the prince requested her presence. She had made their job easier and for that reason they would have liked to have her around permanently.

A stout woman entered the prince's chambers, sweat dripping down her brow. "She has left on a pilgrimage, dear prince. The Lady of Clerante visits Cana as we speak, so I beg you would dry those tears."

"Call her back!" he ordered, his mouth clenching in a pout. "Bring her here immediately!" His lack of patience did not astonish the woman, nor did it alarm them; they only feared he would start bawling yet again. "I want my Lady de Clerante."

"We shall, we shall," the portly woman assured him kindly. "She left you a message. Would you like to hear it?" Pulling out a small piece of paper she started reading, "My most beloved prince, I shan't be seeing you for a short while, but fret not. I am to be back shortly. Until that time, pray act gentle and kind, and I will reward you." That got him to calm down. The one holding Baldwin smiled her thanks. Discreetly the piece of paper was thrown in the fire; least the prince found out it had been naught but blank whiteness.

As swift as a storm Sibylla entered her son's chambers, arms laden with fine silks. An angry expression decorated her fine features. "Where is my son?" she asked acidly to the first person she saw.

Spying the dirtied materials in her mistress' hands, Eadgyth, for that was the name of the generously proportioned, woman bowed to the princess. "He has been taken to bed, my lady. Shall I bring him?"

Understanding dawned upon the princess' face. "No, leave him. Have these cleaned," she ordered, dumping the fabrics into Edagyth's awaiting arms. "Is my son still refusing to see the tutors?"

"Quite so." Edagyth nodded after those words. "And he is continuously asking for the Lady Lavinia."

Disbelief registered on Sibylla's face. "Is he?" It was rather amusing if one took the time to consider it. The most important men in her life were inexplicably drawn to the Lady of Clerante. Uncle and nephew, so very alike in their choices, Sibylla though. The only missing thing was for Guy to suddenly find himself enamoured with the girl too. There had been some bitterness to her last reflection, the princess granted upon further inspection.

Of course she did not wish for Guy to settle his sights on Lavinia. Beside the fact that he was her husband and she would not tolerate his straying, Guy could be very persuasive when he set to get something. Sibylla was not sure Lavinia would last to her husband's courting, were he to try winning her favour. Her poor brother would be crushed.

But it was clear Sibylla did not remember the first meeting between Guy and Baldwin's love interest. If she had all notions about Lavinia falling for Guy's charm would have fled her mind. As it was she could not fathom someone choosing her brother over Guy. The sad thing happened to be that Sibylla reduced everything to the material aspects. It was not out of malice; she simply could not see beyond the barriers. Even when she had suggested that her brother pursue Lavinia, her vision had been solely centred on the physicality of the affair. She firmly believed that of value were concrete things above all else.

She expressed her love through presents instead of words, for it was the only way she knew how to. From an early age that was what she had witnessed, that those cherished would receive gifts and those held in disdain would be derided when the opportunity presented itself.

"Has my husband been here on this day?" she addressed Edagyth who was busy tending to the hearth.

"No, my lady, he has not," the woman replied with something very alike to pity in her voice. She masked it well but it did not escaped Sibylla's ears.

"Should you see him alert my husband of my wish to see him," the princess commanded, doing her best to ward away the unneeded sympathy. She could not help but wonder what the reason behind it was. "And Edagyth, on the morrow bring me the seamstress."

"As you wish, my lady." The servant bowed avoiding eye contact with Sibylla. She was about to get back to her chores when her mistress interrupted.

"Pray tell, where is the Lady Lavinia? I have not seen her these days?" Indeed, where had the girl gone to, Sibylla wondered.

"I was told that she made for Cana," Edagyth informed politely, her thick fingers brushing her skirts of ashen colouring.

Far from praying into Cana, Lavinia sat in a tent waiting news of her release. They had told her the next caravan would take her back to Jerusalem and the very thought worried her. Upon hearing what fate had been reserved for her, the woman realised everything had been a ruse. They had not captured her to obtain any kind of riches. Another had been the plan. The Saracens meant to teach the Christians a lesson; one they were likely not to forget.

Every caravan passed through the lands of Reynald de Chatillon. Tails of his cruelty had reached Lavinia's ears in court. She had dismissed them like she did all gossip, thinking that she might never need to meet such a man. Foolishly she had thought herself above the possibility of facing such a threat. And there she was now. Arnat al-Kerak, as the Muslim called him, was a terror waiting to strike and his favoured targets were the caravans. He would take exorbitant sums of coin from the leaders of the convoys for their passage on his lands without even guaranteeing their safety. Lavinia had the good grace not to delude herself that the master of Kerak might withhold for her sake.

It was with some grief that she contemplated what was to come. However her sorrow was tempered by acceptance. It was that sort of melancholic credence that the convicted would reach upon understanding that in the face of pain and death they were little but candles waiting to be blown out. Lavinia was well aware that she had no power to escape a possible attack. She was no fighter and she doubted the Arabs would protect her. They would be too busy trying to save themselves.

Saladin's mercy had been a sword with two edges. Unfortunately for Lavinia both were sharp, cutting to the bone. In a moment of desperation, tears flooded her vision. The woman wanted to curl into herself and cry. She wanted to let all the agony go before she was to depart from this world.

Slowly, with a hushed voice, she prayed. "Father, forgive me my wrongdoings as I forgive all those who have wronged me. I bed thee that you keep in your care my beloved King and his people, and that you watch over these brave men. May you help them bring peace and prosperity. For myself I ask only one thing, God; let him not forget me. That is my one wish. I thank thee for your guidance and your love." Quickly she drew the sign of the cross in the air. If this was her last prayer, Lavinia knew not; however if she did not make it back to Jerusalem she wanted the Creator to hear her.

Mayhap it had been selfish of her to ask for Baldwin to remember her. Lavinia's chest tightened at the prospect of him forgetting her. He was the one that mattered when all else did not. Her dear Baldwin, whose sweet voice she would never hear again. Oh, why had she not told him of her feelings? Why had she kept them locked away? "If I see him again, God, I shan't hide anymore."

Light streamed in as a tall guard trotted up to her. He took her elbow and hoisted her up. Without a word Lavinia was led outside where a white steed waited. The man put her atop the horse, but not astride for her jilbab not to ride up. They had also given her a hijab, saying it would protect her from the smoulder of the sun. To Lavinia it was quite clear that they were disguising her. It had nothing to do with some sort of form of protection, although it would shield hr from unwanted attention. The purpose was to successfully integrate her among the group she was to travel with. It would also serve to make an assail impossible to evade. What Templar would spare a Muslim woman?

To her utmost surprise she saw Imad making his way to her. "As-salamu alaykum," she said softly, bringing her hand to her forehead.

"Wa alaykum salam. I will pray for you Christian," he told her calmly, as if commenting on the weather. Imad extended his hand, putting something in Lavinia's palm.

Curiously she regarded the received object. It was a white pawn. A bitter smile twisted her lips and she watched Imad walk away for a few slow seconds. Then, as if woken from a spell, she yelled after the Arab. "What will your master do without his pawns?"She threw the piece to him. "I am no one's pawn."

Pretending not to hear her, Imad bent down picking the discarded object. He straightened and walked away, but not before addressing her one last time. "We are all pawns in this game of power."

Without offering a reply Lavinia let herself be dragged away by a Saracen. He brought her to the edge of the camp, on horse. Once there he signalled for her to get down. Obediently, she did just that. Patient eyes took in the caravan she would join. They were fabric merchants, Lavinia decided after a short inspection. The man that had led her here talked with a solid, tanned man who looked her up and down. Suddenly she was glad for the clothing given to her.

Noticing the way she was stared at, the guard harshly berated the other man. Instantly, longing eyes turned away. A small purse was put in the man's hands that Lavinia did not doubt was the price of her fare. The bag was weighted and upon feeling its heaviness the leader grinned and nodded happily, not once glancing at Lavinia. One last warning was bestowed to which a quick nod of the head replied and Lavinia was passed to the convoy.

Once more she was sited on her mount, this time a young, lanky man coming to take charge of her. He did not talk or look to her, the boy simply walked straight ahead across the desert. Lavinia fell in a profound drowsiness. The heat and the sand made her want to sleep deeply for a thousand years. If only danger did not lurk about, Lavinia might have done that. But she did not trust the caravan members or its leader, nor did she expect to pass freely through the lands of Reynald de Chatillon.

Boredom weighted heavy on her. She had not one soul to talk to and shied away from these people, not at all convinced of their benevolence. They were wolves. With nothing better to do, her attention was caught by the gleaming strands of gold sewn into her jilbab. The soft peach coloured material hung loosely about her, hiding her forms entirely; which in itself was not very hard to do. Her light brunette hair had been covered with a golden and white hijab that also concealed her face. Only her eyes could be made out clearly, which in her given condition was more help then hindrance.

They went full hours without stopping. To Lavinia the entire desert looked the same. She wondered how they were able to tell which way to go. Taking a sip of water, she took the time to enjoy the feeling of coolness. Her horse moved at a sluggish pace, as did the whole caravan. It seemed they were in no hurry, despite Lavinia's inner turmoil. Patting the mane of her charger, she racked her nails along its neck affectionately. "You are such a beauty," she remarked upon a closer examination.

The bright colour of her horse shone in the sun. It was indeed a beautiful specimen, built for speed, if one was to consider the way it nickered aggravated at the languor it had to bear with. "Don't worry; we'll have reasons enough to take a swift pace." She could feel it in her bones. "I hope you ride fast as the wind for both our sakes."

It was well into the afternoon that they reached the land of Reynald de Chatillon. For the first part of the journey things had gone remarkably well. At one point they met a man who demanded they pay a fee. He was given coins enough to induce him to nod his head. Lavinia breathed in relief. Perhaps she would not find her end in those parts after all. The caravans continued its way, somewhat confident that they would not be harmed. And things went downhill from there.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a rain of arrows flew over them. Lavinia could not help the shriek that was ripped from her throat; terror biting cruelly into her. She had not been hit but the boy leading her horse fell to the ground. Frightened eyes watched a massacre take place. Lavinia saw the men hit the hot sand, spreading a sheet of red underneath them; they moans of pain sounded in her ears. The woman was frozen in her place; she could not move despite desperately wanting to. All her hoped were dashed as another arrow flew towards her.

Instinctively she pulled on the horse's reins, causing the beast to move. Still she was hit in the leg; metal tore through skin, embedding itself in her flesh. Pain blinded her for an interminable moment. Everything burned with such intensity that she was sure she would faint. Luck was not on her side. The ache only became more acute. She could not even climb off the stallion, Lavinia ruralised dimly. "Maybe it had not been my fate to survive this," she whispered, not knowing who she was speaking to. Looking up, she observed a compact line of riders. A fleeting smile appeared on her lips and she let go.

Going completely limp, Lavinia fell off the horse. She crashed into the solid ground, her face buried in the sand. There was no power left in her to get up. And why would she? They would kill her either way. Maybe if they believed her dead, she would be left alone. Whatever waited for her, she would not move, Lavinia decided. The sound of hooves pounding reached her as if from far away. But they had to be close. She had seen them.

Someone was lifting her, she felt strong arms wrapping around her. Unclear voices ringed about, but Lavinia could not understand what was being said. She thought it might have been an argument, as anger flowed through the air.

"My lady, open you eyes," a person urged, lightly tapping her cheek. "You have to open you eyes." His voice was one step away from fear.

Forcing herself to follow the voice's wishes, Lavinia strained to open her eyes. A dark shadow hung over her. She could only make out a silhouette. "Who…" she started to ask, but her throat was blocked by extreme soreness.

"My lady, it is I, Godfrey de Ibelin," the man informed her, shaking her fatigued form to keep her awake. "What ails you?"

"Everything," she managed to respond tiredly. "I don't - my leg," Lavinia murmured. She could not really feel anything else but pain at the moment.

"Give her some water," Godfrey ordered severely. "And bandage that damned wound on her leg. Can't you see she bleeds?" A wet cloth was pressed to her lips.

"Forgiveness," an unknown voice begged. "The head of the arrow must be pulled out before we may take proper care of it."

"Then pull it out," the Lord of Ibelin said. "My lady, I beg you pardon us this violation, but we must lift your dress. Otherwise we may not reach the injury."

A more dispassionate reaction they would not have received had they told her the sky was blue. Lavinia could not bring herself to care what they did as long as the pain went away. She inclined her head in agreement. Godfrey nodded to the physician who hurriedly lifted the skirt of the dress up to her knees. His hands reached for the arrow further up her leg without exposing anything else. With a sharp thug she pulled it out, eliciting a raw cry from Lavinia. A thin trail of red snaked down her limb.

"We'll have to cauterize it," the physician spoke after a moment. Someone handed him a hot coal which he touched to the wound, making Lavinia flinch and whimper. "There. Now we bandage it." He set about his work without another word. The patient could hardly feel him work.

"Ah, there you are Tiberias!" Godfrey called to the approaching Marshal. "I have the lady."

"What is her condition?" was the fist question, followed by a low string of words Lavinia could not hear.

"Good enough," the other man answered. "She was hit in the leg but the physician had already taken care of it. An arrow had stabbed her good, however I'm told she will be fine. What does Reynald say?"

"That he knows nothing of the attack, that he did not order it and we cannot prove otherwise," Tiberias growled out, his fists clenching. '"The same excuses," Godfrey muttered for himself. "We are lucky indeed that the Templers have a bad aim."

"What world we live in, my friend. They will hang; every single one of them. The King will show them no mercy. They will all die for the greed of one man," Tiberias observed, as the wounded were being picked up and offered care. "She rides with me. Help her to the horse."

Godfrey nodded and bent down. "We leave now, my lady." He picked her in his arms, as easy as one would lift a child. Tiberias had already mounted his stallion. Outstretching his arms, the Marshal took Lavinia from Godfrey and set her in front of him. He rested her back to his front, instructing her to keep still least she bothered the injury. He sent the horse into a slow trot, gliding over sand, mindful of state.

For her part the Lady of Clerante could not believe her luck. This day had been a turbulent one and it left her with scarce energy. She could not even properly analyze the events that had taken place. Her mind was muddled; full of thoughts she could not find a begging and an end to. The only thing Lavinia desired was to rest.

One lone rider had departed very long before the others. It was thus that he entered the palace with an urgent message for the King. The soldier wore his armour, helmet held in one hand, the other holding what looked to be a letter.

Baldwin, who had been waiting for news, wasted no time in taking hold of the paper. He deftly opened it and avidly read its contents. "And you left before, I am to understand?"

"Yes, my King," the man answered without reserve. "They are to arrive shortly."

The king nodded his head. "You may leave," he told the man, releasing him form his duty. He watched the soldier retreat, wild happiness coursing through him.

Tiberias had kept his promise. Along with Godfrey, he had found Lavinia and negotiated her return. If things were to go well, which Tiberias was quick to assure they would, the woman would be back if not that very day, then the following one. Baldwin thanked God from the bottom of his heart. "You have brought her back to me."

He reread through the letter and noticed one small detail that had escaped him. Lavinia was to be brought more than half of the way by a caravan. That raised some suspicions in the king's mind. Would the Saracens keep her safe? He also had to take into account that the most common prey for thieves was these convoys that passed through the desert. And worst of all, Lavinia was a woman. There was little place for a woman there.

"Protect her, sweet Mary," Baldwin asked of the Virgin. Lavinia was strong in her own way, but physical strength she had not. Her frail body would hardly be an obstacle in the way of a man. Whatever force she had, it was of a subtle kind and rested in her power of observation. Words were her only weapons and in such situations they would serve for naught. But Saladin had guaranteed her safety. Surely that counted for something. Unless, Baldwin realised, one were to consider one's own followers a hazard.

Still, the King reminded himself that there was hope. He had sent his best men to carry out his orders. Seldom had they failed him and he trusted that they would succeed in this too. He had to believe they would otherwise he would crumble under the weight of it all.

"What had you distracted so?" a female voice questioned. "You have not even noticed me. And I have been here for some time."

"Sibylla," Baldwin acknowledged. "Matters of state keep me busy, dear sister. You should not be bothered over them. Did you wish to speak to me?"

"Quite," she replied. "Your nephew had been all but crying that he wants the Lady of Clerante. They tell me she went to Cana. You knew?"

"I have heard," he acquiesced. "Why the hurry to ask me, sister? Surely your son can wait a little time more to see her."

Sibylla laughed. "You men are all the same, no matter what age," she stated with amusement. "If you can honestly tell me you can patiently wait for her return then I shall tell you my son can also."

"It is not the same," Baldwin countered. "The boy wants his playmate back. Once he grows bored of her, he shall move on to another person."

"I hardly believe that," the princess challenged. "However I do agree that we speak of two different situation. She is more than a playmate to you, after all. Tell me, is she to be back soon?"

"I believe so." The King regarded his sister with suspicion. She was planning something. He could tell. "Again, why such interest?"

"It is not at all strange for one to ask about one's family," Sibylla said, quite pleased with herself. "I must confess, she is the sister I have always wanted to have but did not find in Isabella."

"Our sister was never very close to us, was she?" Baldwin considered his own question. Isabella was the half-sister of himself and Sibylla. She was the daughter of his father and his second wife, Maria. His own mother, Agnes, kept a bitter hatred for the usurper of her marriage and the child produced out of the union. "Mother still dislikes her strongly."

"Mother dislikes Maria. Isabella is but an afterthought," the sister offered. "Perhaps it would be best to not mention this in her presence, but I much fear we should have kept a closer bond with Isabella."

"We are in agreement; you'd best not tell mother one word of this. She will have a fit we'll never hear the end of." It was rather comical, and well-known, that the King's mother had little sense about her; she was a fickle woman, though not ill-intentioned.

Agnes of Edessa had been Amalric's first wife. Some said that she had not been entirely willing to the marriage, at that time being betrothed to Hugh of Ibelin. Despite her protests Amalric had stolen her right from under her fiancé's nose. As wife to the man who abducted her, Agnes bore three children. Sibylla was the oldest, then came Baldwin and after him followed Alix who had died young. Why Baldwin remembered nothing of her and neither did Sibylla.

With the death of Baldwin the Third, Amalric became heir to the throne, as the deceased King had no children of his own. That was happening a year after the birth of Agnes' only son, in 1162. Having no lands of her own and little political power, Agnes became more of a hindrance to her husband with each passing day. It was then decided that they would get an annulment. Of course it was ruled that their surviving children would be considered legitimate. Without another option, Agnes accepted the termination as best she could.

Many years later, in 1170, she was married to Reginald of Sidon, but still held no influence. Despite that her life was led at Court, even more so after the coronation of her son. While she was not a very prominent figure until her son's ascension to the throne, from the moment Baldwin became King, Agnes was a new woman. That was when she began a war of sorts with Maria. Now, left without power, the widow of Amalric retreated to Nalbus, taking her daughter along. Happy had that day been for Agnes. "Heaven forbid," Sibylla mockingly complained. "I love dear mother but there are times when I cannot understand her. Do you think she may allow Isabella to visit? I have a feeling sister dearest would get on famously with my son."

"That does not depend on mother," Baldwin stated clearly. "You wish me to issue an invitation for them?"

"I was only speaking of Isabella," the princess clarified. "Having Maria here will give mother a seizure. You know we must pay attention to her health." There had been little seriousness in her words.

"Very well then, we shall only call Isabella," the brother decided. "That is if Maria can find it in her heart to spare her."

"I'm sure she'll be eager to have some time for herself. It's every mother's dream," Sibylla disclosed with an air of indifference. "Well then, brother, I shall leave you."

The last words of his sister plunged Baldwin into thoughts of children. Ever since he had been told he was a leper all of his hopes of ever producing an offspring were crushed. It was something well-known that lepers could not have children. The women were barren and the men sterile. These people would never ne able to have children.

At first he did not give much importance to that, until he was old enough to recognize the value of having progenies. Particularly when all of his playmates as children were by a certain time parents. He would see mothers with their young and a sudden ache would flood him. It worsened when he thought of Lavinia. It also weighed heavily on his decision. The knowledge that he would never be able to leave her heavy with child gnawed at him constantly.

He wanted to see her always happy, however he did not believe himself capable of giving her what she desired. Baldwin exhaled heavily. What was to become of them? He was finding it more and more difficult to let her go. Allowing her to leave would be the equivalent of him cutting a limb off. He would rather part with his head than she her go.

A glass filled with wine called to him from the counter. Reaching out, Baldwin caught it in his hand and downed its contents. The drink did not soothe him any. Nothing could make him relax, not until he finally saw Lavinia again. But first he needed to put order in his thoughts. What was her to say to her upon her return? Perhaps tell her how he'd missed her or even ask her to never leave. Or both.

Or anything really. He wanted to maybe let her talk. Baldwin would listen to what she had to say. He would make sure she was alright. Giving her security and a shoulder to cry on if she needed, nothing would make him happier than to be of use to her.

And maybe, just maybe, the King would convince her to stay with him. Perhaps Sibylla was right and Lavinia would consent to be his. From within him a thought rose to the surface. Baldwin was king. If Lavinia would have him she would be Queen. Despite his faults, he would be able to give her a kingdom. Id that was not inducement enough, he did not know what could be. His mind make up, the young ruler waited for the arrival of his lady.

"Come, Lavinia," he whispered to the empty room.

* * *

**_A/N: There you have it, your next chapter. I hope you found this entertaining enough to drop a few lines. More will follow, I assure you. Well then,have a nice week. :)_**


	7. Chapter 7

Lavinia hissed in pain as her foot touched the ground. Tiberias' hands instantly returned to her waist, offering her support. Gently shaking his hold away, Lavinia offered the older man a smile. "Thank you, I will manage. It was unexpected is all," she assured him. "Are you certain the King will receive me at such a late hour? Mayhap I should return on the morrow."

"Nay, lady. The King ordered that you be brought before him as soon as you arrive," the Marshal told her, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "We shall accompany you to report to our liege as well, if you permit it."

"But of course," she exclaimed. "However, I must thank you both once more for saving my life. Had you not been there, I shudder to think of the consequences."

"You need not thank us. The King ordered your rescue," Godfrey threw in, his broad frame casting a long shadow over Lavinia. "Let us not keep him waiting anymore."

Despite her earlier claim, the young woman was finding it quite difficult to take steps with her damaged leg, even more so at the pace the men set. Biting the inside of her cheek, she gathered her strength. It was only a few steps, she told herself. Only a small number of steps between her and the King she so dearly missed. Regardless her tired body refused to cooperate with her. In a moment of weakness, her legs gave way.

Moving fast, Godfrey caught her before she could fall to the ground and hurt herself worse. "Perhaps it would be best if you'd lean on one of us."

Doing as instructed, Lavinia leaned into Godfrey who easily held her up. "You have my gratitude once more. I am sorry for burdening you so."

Climbing stairs proved to be the real challenge as far as Lavinia was concerned. Even with the aid of the lord of Ibelin she found it a hard task to accomplish. Gritting her teeth, the girl forced herself to do it either way. She was considerably pleased when they reached the hallway leading to the King's chambers. Letting her grip on Godfrey's arm relax, Lavinia smiled at the ornate doors. Finally she was where she most desired.

Nodding once at the guards, Tiberias stepped in front of his companions. "The King expects us," he said with a hint of impatience.

The doors were opened and Godfrey pulled Lavinia along with a somewhat gentle grip. Baldwin was studying one of the many documents strewed across his. Upon hearing the small creak, he raised his head. Blue eyes froze on the form of the only woman in the room. Standing to his feet, the King let the object in his hand drop. He then regarded the men and nodded at both. No one said anything for a few moments, a palpable tension settling over them.

"Tiberias, Godfrey," Baldwin called their attention, "you may leave. We will discuss further come morning. Right now I wish to have a word with Lady Lavinia."

Godfrey deposited Lavinia in the closest chair, after which he and Tiberias bowed to the King. They bid him a good evening and made their way out. That left Lavinia on her very own with Baldwin. The young man watched her intently as if trying to make up his mind. Too tired to even think, she accepted his silence and scrutiny.

Stalking closer to her, Baldwin closed one hand around her own. "I beg you, tell me you are fine," he requested, his silk clad thumb brushing along her hand. "Tell me I have not failed you in this for it scares me that you dress is stained in blood."

It could not be denied, Lavinia realised, looking down on her garment. "I am not gravely injured if that is your fear," she said. "It was an arrow that hit me. The physician tended to me long before it could become a serious matter."

"An arrow?" the King asked, his voice choked. "Holy God!" His grip on her hand tightened. "I was of a mind to confess something to you. Now I do not know if I should. It seems I have a way of placing those I hold dear in perilous situations."

Slowly standing to her feet, the woman gazed up at him. "Then let me speak." Lean arms raised and wrapped around his waist, a look of consternation on Lavinia's face. She bit her lip. "In Saladin's camp I had a lot of time to think," she began, her eyes begging him to understand. "And I have made a decision. I want you to know, whether you accept what I say or not, it can't be changed."

Allowing her to cling to him, Baldwin caged her waist in his hold. He made no sound, waiting for her to continue. Whatever she said he would listen. He owed her at least that much. Still, it was impossibly difficult to keep himself from lightly increasing the pressure of his embrace.

"That is to say, nothing can change it," she repeated, a tad lost. Gathering her thoughts, she breathed out heavily. "I care for you," she admitted. "Even more than I thought humanly possible to care for someone. I love you, truly. There. I've said it."

Stunned by her confession, he offered no reply for a brief second. Her words were carefully absorbed and digested. "It was my intention to spare you," Baldwin whispered, "but I find I cannot. May God have mercy on me, woman, for I love thee also."

The dam broke within Lavinia and she started sobbing. Her whole frame shook violently against the King's. Tears poured from her eyes as she struggled to reply to him. She could barely put into words what she felt. "I am so harpy to hear that. You cannot know," she managed brokenly. "I am sorry to be crying like this." She couldn't stop. No matter how she tried to get her emotions in check, they were out of control.

"All is fine," Baldwin soothed her. "Fear not, I am your friend and you may cry in front of me. It is not a weakness to be human. There is no shame in showing emotions." He rocked her gently. "I am the happiest man for I have you." Ever so gently he stroked her back, a comforting gesture. "Let it go; all of it. Release your sorrow and have no fear. I am with you."

The shock had finally registered within her. Up until that point everything had looked to be a dream, a nightmare. Lavinia had witnessed all that happened as if she were somewhere far from it, as if she was not involved in any way. Now that she was back into the safety of Baldwin's arms she became aware of the real danger that she had been exposed to. That and the experience took its toll of her. Given her current state, it was understandable that Lavinia could do nothing more but weep. So in the dim room, surrounded by warmth she let herself go.

Helpless but inexplicably contented, The King observed the woman in his arms. He could do nothing to stop those tears, nor should he, for she needed the release. Taking her wrist with one hand while his other arm wrapped around her middle for balance, he guided both of them to another section of his quarters. They sat on the bed. Lavinia's weeping gradually became soft sniffs until they melted into silence.

Wide eyed and still slightly shaking, she raised her head. "I thought I would never see you again," Lavinia said simply. Agile fingers played with the cord holding the mask upon Baldwin's face. She was waiting for his decision. A nod was answer enough for her to untie the knot. "I've missed this man," she spoke softly, admiring the newly exposed skin. She traced the scars with the pad of her finger, unconcerned with anything else. "I've missed this face." Her finger hovered over his lips.

Catching her hand with his he brought it forward. Placing a chaste kiss to it, Baldwin let his mouth linger over that spot. "Do not leave me again."

"Nothing and no one can make me," Lavinia hurried to offer reassurance. "I will stay here with you for as long as you wish me to." Taken by the moment, she leaned in brushing her lips to his in an almost kiss. "It is enough for you to wish it, my King."

Tempted by her words and the sheer vulnerability she displayed, Baldwin returned the kiss with much more vigour, for once not stopping to consider anything else. Her warm lips quivered under his, the undertones of something far more evocative to it. The unknown called to them, its lure undeniable. Lavinia found delight in the touch of human flesh, so different from the taste of metal she felt before. It was exhilarating and frightening and she wouldn't end it for the world.

"I have felt your absence most keenly," Baldwin whispered in her hair; a soft murmur. "These arms have longed to embrace you for what seems like a lifetime." He went on in hushed tones, stroking her hair in a gentle manner. Looking her over, he thanked God. The Creator had willed it thus, and Baldwin was elated to see those plans come to live. All the losses were lifted off his shoulders, worries dispelled by the promise of happiness.

And those losses had been great. He had much suffered under their weight. Even more so as he could not understand what had prompted them. He had been a child at that time with no knowledge of his illness or its implications. Nevertheless the others had and they were none too forgiving. Mayhap they had not meant to be so, but he was sick and even the suspicion of this disease was enough to make one lose all friends. And how alone he had been! Baldwin thought back of it, a distant memory. He knew not why it still troubled him.

Among his many friends as a child, there had been a particular one he favoured. Candida she was called by all. A girl his age, Candida had been his first love, in that way love appears to a boy barely a decade old. She had been his maiden fair and he her devoted knight. He had been of a mind to make her his queen and his father had agreed, if only for the large dowry she would bring. Of course, Baldwin had not thought of what assets she would bring into the marriage. She was simply Candida, and that was what mattered most to him. But then tragedy struck and Candida was no more. Following her departure, his father also died.

More alone than ever, Baldwin would be crowned king at a tender age, left to fend for himself. He had asked countless times to see Candida and was always refused. What seemed at first some sort of cruel game became almost an obsession. It took a few explanations and hurtful truths uncovered for the young king to understand that Candida was never to be his queen. Not long after he heard she had been given to a lord from her own vicinity. Baldwin's only consolation was that God had willed it so. Candida had been unattainable to him from the start.

But now that he thought of it, putting some distance between him and those events, Baldwin could only be grateful. Candida had been child herself, she could not have offered him the support he needed; their relationship had been a doomed one from the very beginning. Whereas Lavinia was not unable to provide him with said assistance. In the end, God had chosen more wisely that the child-king could have done and this were all the better for it. Candida was but a distant figment in his mind always looked upon with equal parts joy and sorrow. Lavinia was his present.

Ignorant of the reunion, Jerusalem slept under the starlit sky. Tiberias drank his glass of alcohol, quietly regarding his friend who was swaying from one side to the other but did not spill even a single drop out of his goblet.

"I do believe you are in high spirits," Tiberias remarked upon filling himself another glass. "What has you so?"

"Come Tiberias, playing a fool does not suit you." De Ibelin took another gulp of his drink. His stare penetrated the sky, the cogs in his mind turning almost visibly. "She reminds me of Eloisa."

"The blacksmith's wife?" asked the other, vaguely remembering the story behind the name. "You mean to say they are alike? In what way?"

"In that they so readily trust. These women, I tell you Tiberias, they don't know the danger of their ways. Our King's little friend trusted Saladin's words and she trusted us to keep her safe. And we did to a point, but she's changed. She trusted everything would turn out fine," lamented the knight

"But it did turn out fine," Tiberias tried to reach Godfrey. "She will heal if the wound is what worries you."

"It's not the wound!" yelled Godfrey, his hand angrily hitting the cup of wine. It fell to the floor, spilling red liquid all over. "It's not that. Don't you understand?"

"Perhaps I would if you explained it properly to me," prodded Tiberias, a cold look upon his features. "Speak clearly man!"

"They trust us, do you not see? They lean on us to keep them safe, to protect them. But we can't do that. We never do that. Instead we take advantage of their weakness. Snakes we are, it is enough to see a kind smile thrown out way to encourage us."

"We are not talking of the Lady Lavinia anymore, are we?" the Marshal questioned without expecting an answer. It was not likely that Godfrey would offer him one either way.

"I loved her. In my own way, I loved her. Even if she had a husband. Despite the fact that she had a husband. I spotted her one Sunday when she was returning from church with her family. It mattered not that she had a child trailing after her and was on the arm of her husband. I wanted her. And I was the son of the Lord. What I wanted, I got," de Ibelin explained with a sort of anguish. "Yes, what I wanted I got."

"And she was the one you wanted," supplied Tiberias. "We are not saints, my friend. We are people. We are sinners. We sin and then repent. It is the way of the world."

"She didn't want me. But I insisted. Despite her many warnings, I went on and did what I wanted to do," he spoke absently. "And I was successful. In the end I got what I wanted."

"Was it worth it?" the other asked. "All your hard work at convincing her, was she worth it? The effort?"

"I loved her," Godfrey answered. "I love her still. She is the only woman I've ever truly loved."

"Then why not take her with you, here? Nobody would have questioned you." It was a reasonable question as it held truth in it.

"I tried but she wouldn't agree." The knight sighed heavily. "She was heavy with child when I left. I offered to take her with me and care for the child that she would have, even with the risk of it being her husband's. I told her I would love it like my own," he continued. "She still refused, said she had a duty to her family, that she couldn't just leave them."

"God has willed it so," Tiberias tried to placate the man. "It was fate that she stay and you leave. There is no need to beat yourself up over it. The past cannot be undone."

"What if that child was mine?" The question hung heavy between them. It thickened that air notably, unease following it. "What if she carried my child within her?"

Tiberias threw the man a look of concern. "Is there a point to these questions? Mayhap one day you will get the chance to see whether the child was yours or not. You don't know what the morrow brings. Do not despair, Godfrey, my friend. All shall be as God has planned it."

"I should not have left her. I should have stayed and fought for her. I should have challenged her husband and maybe I would have had he not been such a good man." Godfrey stopped to think of a faraway memory. "He was a good man, her husband, the blacksmith. He loved her too. I could tell by the way he looked at her. I hated the man in those moments."

"You were young and foolish, and fighting him would have accomplished nothing," Tiberias excused him. "And if the man loved her it is for the best. He may have been able to forgive her betrayal."

"Would you be able to forgive?" Godfrey challenged, eyes burning from the liquor or something else, unknown. "If the woman you loved…," he trailed off.

"I am not a forgiving man," the Marshal replied, not missing a beat. "But not all men are like me. I cannot afford to be forgiving. Others have this luxury. I cannot even be lenient with myself. I am a man made to be extreme where discipline and moral is concerned."

"And you tell me her husband would forgive her?" the knight disbelievingly solicited. "You tell me that you not forgive. I wouldn't forgive it either. The blacksmith is either a spineless man or very much above us to pardon her. Do you not think?"

"I think you've drank your fill," Tiberias changed the subject. "We'd best get going or else you'll be sleeping in the gutters." A spineless man or a man above them indeed, Tiberias thought grimly, one of those two the man would have to be to absolve his wife of this wrongdoing. Not many would be able to do it.

"My child is a bastard. Even if her husband took it in, that child will always be a bastard," came the soft murmur. "I don't suppose the world had become less merciless in the time I've been gone. They are the same, they must be. I should have stayed."

"To what end?" an irked question flew past the other's lips. "She was still the man's wife. Even if you fought him, their marriage would still tie them. She belonged to her husband, my friend and killing him would have made nothing better. You would not have felt any better."

"I would have had her." Godfrey looked at his companion helplessly. "It would have been enough. You're wrong, I would have felt better."

"Would you be able to stand the guilt?" Tiberias asked, filling himself another cup. Godfrey was a good man himself. And good men got swallowed by their guilt. "Would you?"

"I've killed men before," replied Godfrey. "I've seen them dying, hit by my own sword. I've seen their stares turn vacant, the light leave those eyes and the breath leave their bodies. I've seen men die before."

One eyebrow rose at the admission. Tiberius said nothing, feeling it prudent to allow Godfrey his time. The man was clearly in his cups and needed someone to listen to him. And all this for one woman of long ago. Surely Godfrey was only acting thus on account of the large quantity of alcohol imbibed. Why else would he be so, if it was not love, as he said, that tied him to that woman?

"What do you think our king plans to do with her?" And they were back to the Lady of Clerante with Godfrey's question.

"It is not for me to say," Tiberias offered somewhat relieved. "However it does look like he might not part with her anytime soon. She does him good, I must confess, and she is not half bad at politics."

"You mean to say that she despises Guy?" It was hardly s secret that Godfrey himself did not like the man. "That is well enough. But have you considered that she might not want to be part of these games. She's an innocent. Tiberias. Her eyes do not see like ours."

"I wish her no more harm than you do," the Marshal stated dryly. "However if I do not pull her in these games, someone else will and the consequences might not be so pleasant. We must have her on our side. She may even sway the King's decision of keeping Guy at court. And with him banished there is only little before we might also get rid of Reynald."

"So that was it," the knight addressed the other lightly. "I dare say you take care not to be caught. The King would not like it, and even less the woman. Whatever you do, use your power wisely. After all, you may find her to be your Queen."

"I've no doubt of that," Tiberias confided. "And speaking of the girl's marriage, her brother wished me to find her a husband. With so little effort of my part the task was accomplished."

"Do you think it all so easy?" Godfrey waited for the shake of Tiberias' head. "I thought so. Perhaps a more advantageous solution may be found. A marriage is a grand thing amongst nobles. We must not forget that we are talking of a king."

"She'd be Queen in all but title," murmured his companion in agreement. "That should do well enough. But do not discount the possibility of her becoming a queen. If her brother were to offer the lands he possesses as dowry, the issue would be solved fairly quickly."

Marriage to the higher class often meant an alliance. A noble man married a woman for lands or the military help of her father; love rarely counted for anything. Of course the spouses may come to like one another, even develop a sense of friendship and unity. Affection was not entirely ruled out. Generally after a while the two would get used to each other and make the most out of their union. And the visits to a wife's chambers were only required to last until an heir was born. It became exceedingly easy to stop after that point on.

It was even acceptable for them to have paramours, as long as these affairs were conducted with proper discretion. The church may publicly frown upon such matters; however they could not put up too strong an interdiction in the light of the fact that their own behaved so. So it was that a man may keep a mistress if he provided for her and whatever child may come out of their frequent meetings. Some more prominent figures lived these liaisons without shame. But indeed you would have to be powerful for that. The world talked, but that bothered no one of consequence.

What hung in the air was the following question: what could Lavinia bring to the eventual marriage. It was not unknown that Amalric's separation from his wife did not have its source in consanguinity. In fact the reason was a far worldlier one. The Lady Agnes wielded at that time no political power; she had not many supporters at court and no lands to speak of. Amalric needed far more than a pretty face in his bed once he became King and Agnes was of no help to him. He needed her gone and she was only too happy to oblige him, if only because she lived with the knowledge that someday her son would take the throne and it would be her turn to hold influence and power.

As for the lands of Lavinia's brother, they were well placed and highly productive when looked after with care and dedication. It would be fine if the King managed to obtain them. He might even be able to exert some control over Guy and Reynald's many incursions. The Saracens would be appeased and some measure of peace would befall them all. It proved a nice thought, if hardly attainable. Such dreams rarely came true and if they did, they lasted all too short. It would be ill-advised to count on such occurrences, Tiberias acknowledged, not without a hint of remorse.

Meanwhile, a woman well past her youth admired the stars with a contemplative gaze. Her dark eyes sparked with life, which gave her the appearance of a attractive. While she was no young girl there was something decidedly striking about her. She had a regal sort of demeanour that was softened by the laugh lines touching the corners of her mouth.

"What is it that you see in the night sky that holds so much of your interest, Agnes, my dear?" a voice asked from behind her. The silhouette of a man could be observed over her shoulder.

Far from startled, the woman half turned her head to the man addressing her. "It is the starts, I believe. They are quite, you see. I may never tire of watching them."

"Charming notion as that is, I learned long ago that you only say what you think I want to hear," he chided lightly. "Now do tell me what bothers you. Is it the King?"

"He is my son, you know? Of course I worry," she reasoned, not at all bothered with the exasperation in her husband's voice. "He is a dear boy but I fear he may be endangering himself again."

"On what ground is this fear founded?" Reginald questioned, touching his hand to her shoulder. "What news had reached your ears now to make you so anxious?"

"The troubadour told me that my son has taken a keen interest in a young lady," Agnes told him, feign carelessness in her voice.

"Oh," was the eloquent reply of he husband. "And that is the source of your distress. I hardly find that bad tidings. Unless, of course, you have something to fear of the woman."

"What I fear is that she'll break my son's heart. You were not there to see him the first time it happened." Mothers were generally fiercely loyal to their children. While Agnes was perhaps not the best mother she did, in fact, love her son and daughter. "I do not have it in me to forgive those who hurt my child."

"There, there, my darling," Reginald consoled her. "He may be young, but life has tested him numerous times. Do not doubt that he is capable of making such decisions. Do you even know the lady he has attached himself to?"

Not much older than his wife, Reginald was by far the more grounded of the two. He held much affection for the woman who had become his wife and not a small amount of admiration for her spirited nature. However it was precisely that nature that dampened what could have been a love match. Agnes was a woman decided on what she wanted of life; he saw that. This wife of his carried around an armour make of ambitions that even life with all its unexpected turns could not breach. What was he to do with her when she clearly reached so high?

"No and I shall remedy that post-haste." Agnes had made her decision and nothing was likely to stop her. "I will see with my own eyes just what sort she is."

"It is likely that the boy wants some company," the man countered. "It may be better to leave them be. He hurts no one with this exploit."

"He is ill," she reminded her husband in a harsh whisper. "That woman is clearly taking advantage of him."

A sign passed Reginald's lips. "Do as you will, my dear. So long as you walk there with no preconceptions, I believe even you may stir no trouble."

"What a fine compliment to give your wife," Agnes muttered, eyes flashing in minor aggravation. "Indeed, a fine compliment. The troubadours would shrivel with envy."

"Perhaps you've been seeing too much of them as of late. Have a care. You are my wife." There had been only cold politeness in his words, but Reginald was not a man to joke on such matters. "Curtail their visits. I fear they may prove too tiring for your delicate constitution."

Agnes was far from wicked, but she loved her husband about as much as he did her. There was no reason to pretend. Since her marriage to Reginald she had had a string of lovers. She was no easy woman, just unhappy in her marriage. If asked, Agnes would deny any such feeling, but she was awfully lonely. And Reginald had his own paramours to look after. Theirs had been a union of convenience, if not the bond of two souls very alike. They got on famously as friends; however they lacked a certain spark and searched for that missing piece elsewhere. Agnes had always been careful to give the world no reason to talk.

"Are you perhaps displeased with me?" she tried to gauge his thoughts. "I had no intention of upsetting you. Forgive me if I did, dear friend."

"You've not upset me." Reginald took her hand in his. "Do not believe everything you hear. There are many to admire you and many more who would gladly watch you fall."

"Is this a warning?" Agnes blinked in shock. Against what, she wondered. She had little to fear for the moment. Did he know something she did not?

"Of sorts," her husband uttered nonchalantly, as if he had just been commenting on the weather. "I trust you will do the right thing."

By Heavens that man could make her mad. Agnes watched him walk away with a distinct limp in his walk. If only she could have loved him like she loved the father of her children. By way of consolation, Agnes had to admit she could have done a lot worse than Reginald. He was a mild man and quite pleasant even if he did not compare to her Amalric. It was a special sort of affection that tied her to that long-dead husband. He was the man who put life in her; she owed him the joy of two wonderful children.

Letting her head drop against her arms, Agnes' attention turned back to the sky. "Are you watching over us Amalric? You'd better after all I did for you." Her eyes softened for one small moment. "You'd better." It was not often that she allowed herself to think back to those happy times. There was such a sense of wretchedness about her when memories became too much to handle. Closing her eyes briefly, Agnes willed her tears away. Amalric was gone and she had Reginald, and she was not to complain ceaselessly. "I've more important things to do anyway," she relied to the cool air. Humming softly under her breath, she rose from her seated position and made for the bed.

Not once did she think to glance at the brightly shining star that twinkled merrily high up. Agnes slept undisturbed.

* * *

**_A/N: Oh my, there's a storm brewing in this teacup. I do so enjoy where this is heading. Unfortunately you'll have to wait and see what I have planned. Feel free to share you thought until then._**


	8. Chapter 8

As far as pests went, Guy of Lusignan was a remarkable one, if Agnes could say so herself. How could she have been so wrong in judging his character, the woman would never know, but she dearly regretted it. Not only for her daughter. Agnes saw to far more than the well-being and happiness of her children. She well understood that sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. But the sight before her eyes made it clear that her daughter had paid a too heavy price. Too heavy by far, Agnes should think. Her eyes observed the scene coldly.

A woman straddled Guy's lap. Her dress was rumpled, her hair even more so. When Agnes had entered the woman was smiling foolishly, yet the grin had vanished to be replaced with an embarrassed expression that suited her rather well. One glare from the older woman had ser standing and scrambling about. If not for the anger within her, Agnes would have probably laughed at this picture. However she could not find it in herself to be amused, not at all.

For his part, her son-in-law had the good grace to look mortified. It was commendable even if it was just an act. It showed that there was, indeed, some sense to that man and she hadn't been entirely wrong in her assessment of him. She allowed the servant woman to scurry out the door and closed it with a soft thud. Had she not done that, Agnes was sure her feet would have automatically followed the maid and kicked her out. She was none too forgiving, even less so when her children were involved. She would not forget Guy's little betrayal. The man would pay for it.

"I see my daughter is nowhere to be found," she drawled lightly. "I will have to content myself with your company then."

He was certainly was haughty, she thought upon considering Guy. And with good reason, he was a handsome nobleman, with wealth and power, and very soon a throne. But perhaps what most baffled people was that behind his façade there was actually a spark of intelligence. Her son-in-law had much need of it; the court was no easy place to survive. If it proved to be any differently, Agnes herself would advise Sibylla to cut him loose.

"How may I be of service?" Guy responded with an affable smile on his face. "My lady?"

Agnes considered her options for a quiet moment. "What do you know of son's," she paused, "shall we say, new companion?"

"A cat without claws," he automatically replied. "She is a decent sort, I daresay. Has all her teeth, dark hair and eyes, mature but not that well versed in court feuds." Those few words made up an accurate portrait indeed of Lavinia.

"Even clawless, a cat is never defenceless," Agnes pointed out, her lips curling in a satisfied grin. The girl sounded like someone she could come to like, all the more because Guy had a morose expression when speaking of her. "You said it yourself, she has all her teeth."

Guy bowed to the older woman. "You are, no doubt, right." His eyes focused on the door as it emitted a soft creaking sound. It ceased abruptly and nothing else came forward. "Is there anything else?"

"Where is she?" There was no real need to elaborate on the question. It was obvious what Agnes was asking. "Do you know?"

Since her routine had been established, Lavinia could seldom be found anywhere else other than the King's quarters or the prince's. She was a necessity to both members of the royal family. "I believe she has long since found herself a very comfortable spot in your son's rooms. If not, she is most likely amusing the prince since he's acquired a taste for being mothered by other people than those who should watch him."

The reproach was not lost on Agnes. She smiled placidly. Of course her own daughter was not perfect herself. Sibylla was impulsive and rather given to theatrics when she felt it might help her cause. Nonetheless, when she'd married Guy she'd been much in love. Agnes knew it by the look in her daughter's eyes. She had been so relieved. Of course she wanted Sibylla's happiness but she also knew that an alliance would have to be forged through this second marriage of her daughter's. Guy had seemed the perfect partner at that time. Granted, her assessment proved to be wrong as time went by.

Come to think of it, Guy had never referred to Sibylla's child as his. Of course, she was not the father but that had never stopped any man from claiming ownership of their partner's children. However at first he had paid very much attention to the prince and his mother. Sybilla's first smile since William's death had been for Guy.

"Are you implying something?" Agnes felt compelled to ask, her hands curving gently into the folds of her dress.

"Of course not," Guy responded quickly. "I am concerned, I must say. This woman is ambitious. She will seek to gain influence through your son."

"As you have through my daughter," Agnes reminded him wryly. "Come now, we can hardly blame the girl for taking advantage of her fortunate situation."

Looking properly chastised, Guy nodded his head. "But of course, far be it from me to resent others' good fortune. Especially when I, myself, find luck so very necessary." And he really held no bitterness towards the lady in question, only a good dose of annoyance that she might be given the chance to look down upon him.

It was galling for Guy that Lavinia de Clerante may be in a position in which he would own her respect. She was a nobody with nothing to her than the adoration of a sick fool who thought himself in love with her. Sure, she was young and, Guy suspected, enchanting from the perspective of a man starved of female attention. His wife's brother was nothing short of idiotic in his pursuit of her. She could not heal him even if she thought to try. He would never be able to give her children even if he managed to bed her. Nothing would come out of their union.

If there was a comforting thought than it had to be that one. No matter what they did the King would not produce an heir. He was a leper, of course he would not; they couldn't have children. Those ill had long lost the grace of God. Of course there was no guarantee that the King was even capable of performing the act in itself. And if he was, would the lady let him into her bed. Guy was most certain that she wouldn't. She tolerated him well enough to talk and play, but sharing his bed would most likely leave her stomach empty.

Such a pity it was, Guy considered, that a young woman would have to sacrifice herself in order to get a bit of protection from one man or another. Though he couldn't say she had made the wisest choice. The King's days were numbered. What would she do after his death? Most likely she'd have to search for another protector. Guy promised to himself that he would look upon her with lenience. He might even offer her comfort as long as she repaid him in kind. What a triumph it would be for him. He could almost feel the elation.

Far from contemplating such a dark future, Lavinia rested happily in the King's bed. Her leg throbbed dully, the ache no longer making her falter. From her vantage position, reclining against pillows, she watched Baldwin work, his mask forgotten on the far side of his desk. Lavinia gazed at him fondly, keen to take in every small detail she encountered. In the back of her mind she could not help wondering how long the reprieve was to last.

"You have been watching me quite intently," Baldwin voiced suddenly. "I find myself at a loss for what the reason might be."

"I find you endlessly fascinating," Lavinia confessed unperturbed, from her spot. "If you really must know, I think you may be my favourite person to give attention to."

"I would rather hope so. Having others to compete with might not prove to be very pleasant," he mussed out loud, amusement clear in his words.

"For them, I'm sure," Lavinia countered lightly. "What is it that you are writing with such diligence? You've made me curious."

"That is your dominant trait," the King remarked. "I am inviting my sister, Isabella, to spend a little of her precious time at court."

Lavinia made a noise in the back of her throat to show she'd heard. "Why now?" she couldn't help asking.

Baldwin turned in his chair to look at her. "Why do think I am inviting her now?" It was only appropriate that he ask.

"Surely this is no social call." Lavinia smiled knowingly. "The fact is, I know you are planning something; however I don't know what that something is."

"I assure you that I plan many things." Baldwin rose from his seat and strode towards her. "None of these things are important at the moment."

Letting the letter slip from her mind, Lavinia accepted the King's embrace and the kiss pressed to her lips. Idly, she thought that it might have been a thousand times better were he not a King. As it was, Lavinia was well aware that she'd need some much needed support from members of the court and a very impressive dowry if she wanted to marry Baldwin. None of the two were likely to be thrown her way. It might even be that she'd remain only a mistress. And that she did not want under any circumstances. Alas she'd never be able to let go of her feelings for the King.

Driving those thoughts away, she concentrated on the pleasantness of the kiss she was sharing with Baldwin, until there was nothing left in her mind. Lavinia hoped with all her heart that she might be able to make this man happy. Him being so would give her very much in the way of bliss. If only nothing happened to destroy this fragile bond they created. It seemed foolish of her to think so, but this woman had only her dreams. Of course, her mind had been make up long ago that she would not back out even if it did not turn out quite the way she had planned it.

"What is to become of us?" Lavinia whispered against his lips, a soft tremor marking the genuine concern hidden behind the question.

"Whatever we make of it," Baldwin replied. "Stay with me. I never want to part from you again, my lady. Don't leave."

"I won't. You know I won't." Lavinia felt the bed lower with the addition of his weight. "I would find it remarkably difficult to do so anyway. I thought I had said it once before."

"Alas! I am in constant need of reassurance." He bent down for another kiss. "Would it prove too vexing a task for you?"

Making a show of pondering his question, Lavinia pursed her lips playfully. She put a finger under her chin, tilting her head to the side, and adopted a contemplative expression. "Constant reassurance, you say? I can think of nothing that I wish to do more than constantly reassuring you of my willingness to stay by your side."

His face lost all traces of mischievousness. "This won't be easy. And it will only get more difficult." It was unclear what he was referring to, so Lavinia shrugged. "I mean it."

"It's never simple," she pointed out, and rightfully so. Life was no one's playground, be he king or pauper. "But I want to share this life with you. I know peace may be elusive and I can think of no other I wish to face the storm with than you."

Long ago, when he was still a child, before he had been crowned, the troubadours at court sang about love so strong that it could overcome anything, even the implacable death. If he were a hero in a story, then the love he shared with Lavinia would surely be such affection able to transcend any obstacle. In them he saw a parallel to great myths read in his childhood. The humans had always loved recklessly, abandoning themselves to the feeling, until it brought their demise. Love was dangerous, yet impossible to live without. Baldwin feared the tragedy that would undoubtedly strike.

But he could die a happy man, the King realised upon looking at Lavinia's face. More than that, he could live a happy man with her by his side. He might never be able to give her everything she deserved. They would not have children of their own. She would survive him for sure, and she would have to continue fighting on her own once he was no more. Yet she donned a brave face at the prospect, and assured him she was willing to take the risk. How could he ever hope to dissuade such a woman from her path? He couldn't, so instead he selfishly held onto her.

"I cannot promise you bliss," he whispered against her temple, just loud enough for her to hear. "I can however make you my Queen and give you my heart."

"No one should promise bliss." Lavinia pulled back to look at him. "It is enough that you love me as I love you."

A rap on the door made them part, both reluctant to do so. Sliding away from her, Baldwin walked through the doors to another room, retrieving his mask and closing it softly behind him. His eyes settled on the main door as he nodded for them to be opened. It surprised him greatly to see his mother entering. She was not a woman prone to visiting, unless to give some opinion on one thing or another.

"My son," she greeted him with a smile. If it was less radiant than the one she usually wore, Baldwin made no mention of it. "I wish to have a word with you."

"But of course," Baldwin obliged. "Have a seat, my lady." He followed his own advice and took his usual seat. His mother followed suit. "What is it that you wish to say to me?"

"I've heard," she began with a weaver, but continued in a strong manner"that you've taken interest in a young lady." Her stare pinned him to the chair. "Is that true?"

"It is hardly a secret," the King disclosed unaffected by her cold glare. "Why, is that the reason behind your visit? You needn't have bothered." He was long used to such stares from his mother.

"Do you wish to marry her? Make her your Queen?" Agnes took her son's silence as her answer. "You will need my support." The lady his son wanted surely would need her assistance at some point.

"And you are willing to give me your support?" Baldwin regarded her dubiously. His mother was awfully good at deceiving. "Are you?" He would do well to remember she could be cunning, indeed, if she willed.

"I've yet to meet her," Agnes snapped. "I cannot make such a decision without having at least talked to this woman."

In reality, Agnes was more than a fraction unenthusiastic about Baldwin's wish. What woman in her right mind would tie herself to an ill man? Even if she loved her son, Agnes was a fundamentally realistic woman. Since she herself would not accept such a union for her own person, how could this unknown female contemplate it? It might have been a trick to trap her son. Agnes vowed to withhold her consent for as long as it took to better acquaint herself with the lady in question. She could not leave her son in the hands of a lunatic.

Sibylla had suffered under an inopportune choice. Agnes would not let the same happen to her son. It weighted even heavier on her that he was ailing. Whoever his alleged lover was, Agnes would not approve their match unless she found the woman to be of an impeccable sort. She demanded no less than perfection, as all mothers did. This time she would make no mistakes. The lady to become her son's wife, and thereafter the Queen, would have to first be the former rather than the latter. Agnes tempered the scowl she felt taking roots with a quick half-smile.

The King sat silently. He could almost see the cogs turning in his mother's mind. She would not make it easy upon them, he decided fairly quickly. Agnes was not a woman to show mercy or any of what she deemed a sign weakness. However none could accuse her of being unfair. It was rare of her to be cruel, but she was pitiless when the situation called for it. Of course, Baldwin had nothing to fear. Lavinia loved him, he knew that much, and his mother would just have to convince herself of it and accept it once she saw it.

Furthermore, Baldwin had passed the age of majority. He could marry Lavinia without Agnes' support and consent. That would complicate things, yet his life had always been a tangle. It would prove helpful of his mother to stretch her hand out to them. And he could always count on his Sibylla to stand by him. Pragmatics like the Marshal of Jerusalem could be appeased also. In fact, if the King had sensed it correctly, the Marshal was not opposed to a union between him and the Lady de Clerante; he encouraged it in his own way. Baldwin waited for his mother's further words.

"Tell me that she has at least some sort of title," Agnes requested after moments of silence. "And something can be gained by this joining."

"She does," the King appeased the woman before him. "Her name is Lavinia, she own the lands of de Clerante. So you see, she is an appropriate choice."

"Lavinia de Clerante," Agnes repeated, trying to pair the name with a face. His son had to be talking of lady recently arrived for she had no recollection of any woman by that name. "I confess to not knowing the lady."

A smile stretched on Baldwin's face, behind the mask. "Indeed? That shall not remain so, I assure you." He nodded to her in assurance.

"That it shouldn't." She folded her hands in her lap and continued to stare at her child. The mask on his face made her the slightest bit uneasy. As a young child he'd had the sweetest face. She remembered those dark curls and blue eyes. So much like his sister, yet so different at the same time. Agnes missed being able to caress her son's hair and see his face light up in a smile. She was fond of both her children.

Utter chaos had taken over her when she learned of her son's illness. Any mother would have been saddened by the thought and perhaps taken down by it. Agnes had gritted her teeth and promised to herself that despite everything Baldwin would be crowned king. And he was, praised be the Lord. Her son occupied the throne his father had before him. Agnes had felt invincible on the day of his coronation. Not only for the fact that he became a ruler, but for him surviving even when everyone thought he wouldn't. Baldwin had given her much to be proud of in the years to come.

"Does she make you happy?" she ventured, steadily rising from her place. "That is one of the more important aspects of it all."

"Happier than I've been in a long time." Baldwin sighed deeply after his admission. "I am glad you think it is of importance that she brings me joy." He watched his mother go in silence.

"I am not sure how to feel about all this," Lavinia's voice sounded from behind him. The King turned to see her propped against the door.

"Does it unnerve you?" He beckoned her over. "You should not be up yet. Give yourself a chance to rest, my dear."

"I've had enough rest," Lavinia disputed lightly. "I was allowed little other activity in Saladin's encampment. Now tell me what made conduct that discussion privately?"

"My mother is not exceedingly undemanding. I needed her to understand my mind had already been made up," Baldwin explained, taking her hand in his. "Otherwise she would not have agreed to help."

It occurred to Lavinia that she would indeed need as much help as she could possibly get. "And now she has?"

Her King nodded. "Once she meets you, she will take you under her wing. It makes things less complicated for us. Having her on our side also attracts others. You will come to discover that the court is less likely to suffocate you when the right people allay themselves with you. Still, don't forget it is a dangerous place. Never underestimate the power of your adversaries."

Those were not empty words. Lavinia would not just become a man's wife; she would be a Kin's Queen. It was a heavy burden she had agreed to take on. Alas, she was determined and nothing could stop her now. "I shall keep that in mind." She hoped her enemies, whoever they were, would underestimate her. There was no weapon like surprise when one wanted to win.

And Lavinia could simply not forget about Guy. That infuriating man still lingered in the shadows, ready to watch her fall and crow once she was on her knees. She would die before giving him such pleasure. Perhaps it was ambitious of her, but she would find a way to cut the man loose. He was more trouble than he was worth. Not to mention that his constant hovering made Lavinia feel uneasy. It was clear what the man wanted. She shuddered in disgust just thinking of Guy on the throne. That would never happen if she could help it.

Having a child of her own was improbable. However, the King already had an heir in Sibylla's son. Little Baldwin could very well become king one day. Lavinia would even make sure that it was so. The trick was getting the boy of the throne without involving his mother and her husband. Without doubt Guy would try to force the power in his hands through Sibylla who would have no real means of opposing him. A wife owed her husband obedience whether she was noble or base-born, and Sibylla would not be exempted from the rule. Guy would not let that happen.

If memory served, lord Tiberias and de Ibelin were also of a mind that Guy should disappear as fast as possible. Lavinia knew she could count on them to help her in that particular endeavour. The future Queen made it her personal mission to see the Princess' husband gone. He would display faults and when he did, Lavinia would encourage the King to be rid of the man. Sibylla could live very well without such a husband. Lavinia was sure the Princess would be happier in her husband's absence. And the rest of Jerusalem with her; especially those not Christians.

"Now it is you to think deeply upon matters unknown to me," Baldwin cut through her train of thoughts. "Would you share those thoughts with me?"

"I am simply pondering the alterations which will be made," Lavinia answered quickly. "It is an enormous change I find myself compelled to adapt to."

Considering her words, Baldwin could only agree. She would no longer have as much freedom as she had before. When her brother had left her alone, she became mistress of her lands. She had to look after everything and everyone. That had given her independence and powers women had no access to in other circumstances. As a Queen, all her decisions will have to be approved by the King. She was not ruling over a few families, but rather thousands of them. One mistake could have disastrous outcomes. If not handled properly any problem could escalate to a full-fledged catastrophe.

Despite such worries, Baldwin did not doubt Lavinia would prove to be a good queen. She had the makings of one as far as he could tell. Lavinia was caring and upright. She tolerated immorality rather poorly but wasn't extremely quick to judge. Rather, she was willing to keep an open mind and search for the good in others. It was a quality that recommended her highly. Not many possessed it. Their reign could be one of peace and prosperity so long as they kept on the path of rightfulness. God would decide what was to happen and they would find out at the perfect moment.

"Does that mean you will assume the role of queen, my lady?" Baldwin teased easily. "I would very much like to see you do so."

"I would very much like to be your wife," she replied in kind. "The truth is, I can hardly wait for it to happen. I must be dreaming."

"Oh, this is no dream. Dreams lack complications." His grip on her hands tightened considerably then. "Life is so much more than a perfect fantasy."

"We are in agreement then." Truly, life had much more to offer than anything the mind could come up with, Lavinia thought.

Dreams often left one empty. They were fantasies conjured by a flawed mind. Humans were flawed by their very nature so it was understandable that whatever they invented would never reach perfection. Dreams were such inventions. They conveyed the longing for the paradise they'd lost. However they were a pale reflection of what had once been. Lavinia put her other hand on Baldwin's own as she considered that. It would have been sad for her to wake up and find everything she had lived was a dream. More than just sad, it would be tragic. It would tear her apart.

Somewhere in the gardens, Sibylla watched her young son play. The boy ran around on unsteady feet, the maids trailing after him. They would crouch down along with the boy and feign surprise at his every discovery and listen to his explanations with awed expressions. It was a comical sigh to be sure. Sibylla enjoyed it thoroughly. Crossing her arms over her chest she waited for small Baldwin to run out of breath and take a seat next to her. The child did no such thing. For the moment he was content to chase a butterfly around the bushes, enthusiastically clapping his hands.

"He is so lively," she commented to one of her ladies-in-waiting. A proud smile appeared on her face at his attempts to catch the winged bug. "Wouldn't you say so?"

"He is indeed," the woman agreed with a smile of her own. "Look how he runs. They grow up so fast. Just now he was still crawling."

"I'm afraid that he'll grow up before I know it." Sibylla looked up at the sky. She was not ready to let her son face the world, and she would probably never be.

"That's what the generally do," an older lady warned. "Especially boys. Now you see him in the gardens chasing butterflies and the next thing you know he's leading the army, slaying enemies."

"Heaven forbid!" The notion of her son being on the battlefield filled Sibylla with dread. It was good that he was just a boy. "I shall keep him well away from any of those as long as I can." She was not very keen on sending her only son in a death field. Even when he was going to be old enough to make his own decisions she would valiantly protest to him taking up arms. Alas that could not be avoided. When his uncle died, her son would step up to the throne. Her small Baldwin would be King.

One of the few things that worried her washer husband. Guy was becoming more and more reckless in his behaviour. What had once seemed a noble man, was now only a pale shadow. His continued collaboration with intolerant members of the court provided no short number of displeasing episodes. Of course, the blame was not only his. Reynald de Chatillon was as much an instigator as her husband. It was no secret that his soldiers frequently raided Saracen caravans. He was responsible for more attacks that Sibylla cared to count, and her husband let himself be led by such a beast.

Sibylla's hopes rested solely in her son. William's child was so much like his departed father. They shared the same light blond hair, and the same shade of blue eyes. Even their smile was the same. The Princess thought of her late husband fondly. If he had lived they'd be so much happier. Her brother would certainly be able to rest at ease, knowing that his kingdom would not perish along with him. William would have been a fine help for the King. Poor William, he had died before his time. The fever took his so quickly, and left a woman husbandless.

Had William survived the fever, he would have been able to watch his son grow. Sibylla knew he would have been proud. How could he not when little Baldwin was such a joy to his mother? Pondering her progeny further, Sibylla found all sort of attributes that set him apart from others. Someday he would make a fine king. If only he'd concentrate on his lessons a bit more. But then the mother reminded herself that he was just a child. He'd have enough time for lessons when he grew older. Until then, he should be allowed time to enjoy life.

"Maman, look!" the boy exclaimed, holding something tightly in his hand. With small, rapid steps he approached his seated mother. The small fist came apart to reveal a small grey stone. "Look what I found."

"What is it?" Sibylla asked, bending over. "What have you found?" She smiled indulgently at her son and examined the flat stone with care.

"It sparkles," Baldwin whispered mesmerized. "I saw it myself. Once the sun touches it, it sparkles just like yours maman." He pointed to the diamonds as he said it.

"Does it now? Show me." Stepping away from her place, she walked into the light, her hand holding her child's. The boys unclenched his fist and together they watched the stone glitter merrily. "You were right, my darling. It does shine particularly beautiful." She smoothed Baldwin's hair lovingly.

Smiling brightly, Baldwin dashed away, in search of other wonders to bring back to his mother. Sibylla returned to her spot under the cool shadow. She signalled for one of the servants to follow her son, and reclined against the pillows provided for her. It was such a pleasant day to be up and about. In the back of her mind she felt something alarming. However her disposition was such that she ignored it. Nothing would ruin this day for her. Still, she could not stop a chill from travelling down her spine. Whatever was happening, trouble would soon be upon them.

Feeling not a bit calmed by the premonition, she glanced over her shoulder. The soft sand covered the ground and plants decorated the surroundings. Nothing in the garden seemed amiss, but still her heart warned her. Shrugging she turned her thought away from it. No good could come from dwelling upon such things, Sibylla decided. Nothing had happened yet, and that was what mattered the most. Problems would be dealt with as they appeared.

* * *

_**A/N: There you go. It took me some time to write this all down. I hope the effort was worth it. Go on the, tell me what you think.**_


	9. Chapter 9

Lady Candida's green eyes widened significantly at the other woman's entrance. She bowed, her unpinned blonde curls swaying gently with her. "My Lady," she greeted softly.

Agnes regarded the young woman for a moment. "Lady Candida," she said in kind. "I heard you'd come back." Time had been kind to this lady, keeping her fresh as a spring day.

"Indeed. My husband's passing made the circumstances so," she explained, her hand on her heart. Lady Candida had been married for a few short years.

"My most sincere condolences." Agnes could sympathise with the woman. She understood her pain. "Are you planning to remain here?"

Considering Agnes' question, Lady Candida frowned. She had not forgotten the woman who had been her friend's mother. Neither had she forgotten the fondness between herself and the now King of Jerusalem. Did Agnes fear a renewed acquaintance between them? "I thought to do so. You are aware of my late father, may God rest his soul, owning some lands than had been passed onto my cousin. I had plans to stay with said cousin and his family."

It had been extremely generous of her cousin to take her in. As a widow, childless and still quite young, she could be an asset to him. Lady Candida was not bothered by that, it was the way of their world, she constantly reminded herself to keep her soul at peace. Nor did she plan to seek the King out. What had been between them was an affection shared by children, but no less true. They were not that any longer she feared, thus whatever had been between them was far gone. What was more, she'd heard he was ill. Far be it from the Lady to blame the King, but she could not abide an entanglement to a sick man.

In truth she'd been exceedingly fond of her late husband. Marrying him had been the highlight of her life; she had only wished that God had blessed them with a child. No matter what formula they followed Candida couldn't seem to conceive. Still he'd been most kind to her. It hadn't been a love match, for he had never professed his love for her, but Candida did not hold that against him. She herself had never fallen in love with him, but they'd been able to tolerate one another very well indeed. He had been her protector and she the mistress of his household. What more could a woman demand from a marriage?

"And shall you attend court with your kin at times?" Apparently nonchalant, Agnes' question held much more than a brief interest.

While not putting any blame on the girl's shoulders, Agnes was very much aware that old loves could be easily rekindled. Not that Lady Candida would intentionally lure her son. Like any reminiscence, a previous fondness brought with it sentiments thought to be buried. Easily one fell in love, yet parting from it was not so convenient. It was simply that Lady Agnes had no wish for further complications, not when her son had found some happiness.

"I do not expect to do so," Candida replied cautiously. She had no wish of giving the wrong impression to such grand a lady. "Unless I am required to."

Nodding approvingly Agnes visibly relaxed. "Do convey my regards to your cousin. He is, I believe, a new father. I will wait to felicitate him personally when I see him."

Bayard de Cheverny was indeed the proud father of not one, but two children. After many miscarriages and a few still born babes, Alix had managed to offer her husband an heir and a spare. It was nothing if not praise worthy.

Bowing as the older woman retreated, Candida could not stop a small smile from stealing over her face. It would indeed prove to be an interesting time she spent in the company of her relatives.

A maid hurried in the room and was promptly scolded for her tardiness. "You should have been here an hour ago." The Lady tutted softly in displeasure. "Let this not happen again girl or there shall be consequences."

"It won't, my Lady, I swear it won't" the girl promise, her small hands fastening braids. She was scared enough to not repeat her mistake a second time.

In the corridor, Agnes smiled at one of her ladies in waiting. She drew the woman closer, her hand grasping an elbow. "Be sure to keep an eye on her."

"You do not trust her, my Lady?" the other asked, suspicion creeping into her voice. "I won't let a detail escape me."

Nodding her head in a hearty agreement, Agnes turned a look upon the closed doors. "Men can be easily swayed. Even more so by a willing stare and inviting smile." It was a truth known well by women, that men could be rather foolish when it came to pretty faces. Many a battle had been fought for women of great beauty. And equally many wives had been left for a person with more attractiveness.

In the end the only thing to do was wait. One false step on Lady Candida's part would see her disposed of. Surely her cousin could find a nunnery to take the woman in should the King's mother make such a request of him. Peace coursed through Agnes at that though. There was not much she could not do in her position.

"Let us head back now," she called behind her. The sound of small steps following her was not in the least strange to her ears. Mounting her horse, the woman turned to face her ladies in waiting. They too climbed atop such majestic animals as hers. One moved closer to the mistress while the other remained at her back. Such way placed they could offer cover in case of an attack. While that was not likely to happen it paid to be cautious.

Changing her mind at the last moment, Agnes smiled slyly. She glanced at the sky, observing the morning sun with its warm glow and bright colour. Indeed, she was to make haste to another part of her domain altogether.

"Come! We have wasted enough time here." Kicking her heels into the flanks of her horse, she took to the dusty road, sand flying around her.

In the shadows of Baldwin's rooms, those that not many entered, Lavinia was restless. Her leg, stiff with pain for it had yet to heal, rested on a low chair. It helped her little that the King had to go about his business but she understood it well. A kingdom did not run itself; there were forever matters requiring his attention. And they tired him so. Lavinia heaved a sigh. She'd rather move to the balcony, in the sun. She could read there. Poor light seldom made for appropriate reading locations.

Even though it pained her a great deal, she brought herself up with a firm jerk. The ache deepened, cutting to the bone. A walking stick would have been of much help. Clinging to the stable objects around her she held herself upright. Unfortunately for her balance seemed to avoid her these days. Stumbling, both from lack of attention and a useless leg, Lavinia crashed to the floor bringing the chair with her. Frustration rose with a bitter sting. Bracing her weight on her arms, the woman tried to hoist herself up, and consequently failed miserably. No doubt it was to her weakened limbs that blame should be cast upon. Elusive as her grace was, Lavinia would not yet admit defeat.

The soft sound of steps reached her ears. Glancing towards the source, she flushed. It was a reaction born out of her own shyness and dislike for unflattering situations. From behind his silvery mask, Baldwin's eyes stared at her unabashedly. Lavinia thought she even saw a hint of amusement shine in those twin pools.

"I do believe I got ahead of myself," she murmured, not without a good dose of well placed amusement of her own. "Terribly clumsy of me." Her sigh bespoke of light vexation.

"Terribly," the young man agreed, taking careful steps towards her. Gently he helped her up to another chair. "Are you in pain?" The fallen one had not been spared a glance.

"No more than I expected." Lavinia watched him take a seat next to her. She could not think of anything to fill the silence with. Normally subject of conversation were not lacking. He seemed oddly distracted. And again, most oddly, he wore his mask around her. There was something which he did not wish to share with her. Her hand gripped his in a light hold. Lavinia uttered nary a word. She was only now just remembering that the man she loved was a king with many a responsibility resting on his shoulders.

What could she possibly say to him in order to ease his burden? She knew less than nothing about running a kingdom and court intrigue was as foreign to her as rain to the desert. The only thing she could do was hold onto him and hope for the best. Whether he chose to share his burden with her or nor was for Baldwin to decide. Lavinia had offered her shoulder, and her whole heart, if one was to count such things, to him already. Whatever else there was she would gladly hand to him.

"I shall miss you," the King confessed, clutching her hand with fervour. Unintentionally he allowed his unease slip into those words.

Confused, Lavinia leaned closer into him. "Why ever shall you miss me, Your Highness? Am I to be leaving you for more than those few night hours that I am obliged to spend away from you?" There was always such a possibility, the thought came unbidden to her, and most unwelcomed, she thought.

At his nod, Baldwin felt her grow stiff. "Mayhap I should explain." His masked face turned towards her. "What do you know of marriages in the noble class?"

Pondering the question, Lavinia tried to recount everything her brother had ever told her of the marriage she was to contract in the Holy Land. "I know it is more than the bringing of two people together. It is rarely a bond of affection but rather it serves to unite titles and fortunes." Still, her head tilted in confusion.

"A very true assessment, that." Baldwin brushed a rebellious strand of hair out of her face. Choosing his words carefully, he tried to appease her. "I dislike it as much as you do. However the rule dictates thus. We are to spend at least one moon apart. If we do meet, it will be in the presence of our elders who could vouch for our conduct." Those words had been said not without

"An entire moon?" Scandalised, Lavinia forgot about her injured leg and dropped her weight onto it. A wave of pain shot through her, eliciting a pained gasp. "Is there no way around this? You are the King! Surely an exception could be made." And then it dawned upon her. "What are you not telling me?"

"If we give them the opportunity, they would jump at us like jackals. This must be done closely observing custom," he explained. Indeed from his tone of voice it became apparent that he hadn't found any joy in delivering such a message to her.

Stifling a hurt sigh, the young woman pursed her lips for a split-second. "But we'll try to make it no more than a month?" She waited for his confirmation. It was aggravating, having to part from him but these were the rules of the game she'd started playing. "I do believe I shall miss you very much more. A whole moon cycle? And that's at best."

Reaching out towards him, Lavinia pulled on his sleeve, signalling that she wanted him closer. Giving in to her demand, Baldwin allowed her to manoeuvre him. Her slight form burrowed in his side, the chair legs screeching as they glided on the floor. Draping an arm around her waist, he put his head atop of hers, drawing silent strength from her closeness and affectionate nature. "It shall pass before you know it." And so he hoped it would.

Touching his covered forehead to hers, Baldwin smiled softly behind the mask. Gloved fingers toyed with exposed ones, a gentleness of movement washing over every flick, push and pull. Tenderness, unhurried and subtle, clung to every small stroke.

"When is it that we part?" she asked in a small voice, barely a whisper between them. The air chilled considerably, one of the candle flames trembling slightly.

"On the morrow we shall be no longer in the company of one another," he replied, not letting go of her shaking hand. Be it as he would will it to, the King would never let her go. Alas, even one such as he was not free to follow his heart at times. Rules had to be followed this once.

"Then I shall wait the days out at my brother's home," Lavinia said. Silently she hoped that not all days would be barren, without him as company. They might still see one another somehow. Even a glance would be enough. Just a moment's sight to quell her worries.

"Not that, my love." The smile in his voice made her eyes rise up to his. "Not that," he repeated in a low tone, affectionately touching her face with a featherlike caress. "Your brother is not here. As such you shall be placed in the care of your guardian."

"The Marshall?" A smile of her own responded to his. Lord Tiberias was hardly the worst keeper to be placed upon her. It was to be hoped then that the month within which she was to stay away from the King would not be so slow to pass.

It also happened to be very fortunate that the Marshall frequently played chess with the King. One did not have far to look in order to discover that. It stood to reason, at least in Lavinia's mind, that the man would not refuse to carry a note or two from her to Baldwin. If on paper was the only contact she could have with the man then so be it. She'd accept the situation obediently, if somewhat unhappy. Her consolation would come. 'Twas not far, she reminded herself in a comforting manner, she had not to wait all that long.

Musings were thrown to the side as Lavinia felt the tip of a gloved finger draw lines in her palm. Automatically she released a content sigh. Such small touches, infrequent as they happened to be, were more comforting than any words. They were more solid than any promise that had ever been made to her, thus she clung onto such apparently insignificant strokes.

Twisting her upper half, Lavinia placed both her arms on his shoulders. Gentle fingers sought the strings of his mask, pulling the knot apart in a deliberately slow motion. Catching it with his gloved hand, Baldwin placed the object on his lap. Lavinia gave a half smile, a fond upturn of lips that was more unconscious than anything else. It was her turn to trace lines, and she did just so, following every scar, a shadow touch, a tender caress. She noticed with some relief that the wound at the corner of his mouth had too scarred. Placing her lips on that mark, she kissed the corner lightly.

Large hands, long-fingered and graceful, came to frame her face. With a mellow pull, he guided her lips to his. They stood thus, a hair's breadth apart, in silence, staring at one another. The moment seemed frozen in time. It was something not abstract; it was alive, a tangible, living, breathing thing. It was two hearts beating in unison, two humans loving and being loved. More than anything, it was a man and a woman who had consented to sharing a lifetime together, however long or short that might be.

Breaking the flimsy barrier between them, Baldwin took Lavinia's mouth with his own. This time it was not self-discovery and finding. The kiss was a symbol, a promise that needed not word to be understood. It was an oath. Sweet and loving, long and unhurried, it washed over both man and woman. It was almost a fact. The physicality was hidden just beneath the surface, yet the strength could be felt.

Threading his fingers through her hair, Baldwin pressed firmer against her in an act of claiming, as much as in prayer. That was to say he would soon have her; it was to ask that she not forget him. He bided her to wait for him, to think of him. He was a wall, tall-standing and indestructible; ready to defend her should she have need of him. In return he wished her affection and devotion to be his. What were all unions of destinies, if not bargains? Each part had their own to offer and to demand. It was the way things worked; the way they would continue for ages to work.

Flushed and bright-eyed, Lavinia pulled back slowly, as if waking from a dream. She let her head rest momentarily on his shoulder. The spell broken, she listened to the thrum of his heart, her own joining his as if to prove, once more, the safety of the match. The soft whoosh of billowing curtains provided milieu noise, a whisper of intimacy. It was familiar, and altogether foreign. They were saying goodbye, not forever, but for what would feel like eons. Yet they were not to part for very long. Mayhap it did not even warrant the significance they gave it. But they gave it that nonetheless, with heavy heart and regretful glances. It seemed almost a crime to pull them apart; a heinous sin that could only be committed by a foul person, indeed.

Looking at them one could not but wonder if it was quite as painful as they made it seem. Surely such emotion could not be simply affected. It could hardly be a trick of the eyes, the way she tightened her hold a fraction as if afraid she'd be ripped away from him in the next moment. The King's eyes rested on the woman lovingly and also with an untold sadness.

Tiberias stood in the doorway. Unsure of what to do he moved not a muscle as the scene unfolded before his eyes. It was not seeing the two young people in their passionate embrace, but rather feeling like he was intruding on something highly intimate. It was not his place. Adverting his eyes, the Marshall forced his body to move, retreating slowly.

"Ah, Tiberias!" exclaimed the King, attracting the other man's eyes back to the couple, now standing a bit apart. "You have come."

Startled, the lord made his bow. "Highness," he said by way of greeting. "And my Lady." His head nodded towards Lavinia. "I trust I find you well this day." There was something about the King's uncovered face that unnerved the Marshall. It could simply be attributed to the fact that he was not much used to seeing the young man without his mask on. Or maybe it had to do with the intensity of the stare he levelled; without the obstruction of the mask his eyes seemed to cut right through his subject.

"Well, indeed," the King replied, Lavinia bobbing her head in agreement. Their hands hadn't parted ways, still remaining in a strong clasp.

"I've come," he started, eyes affixed on the lady, "I've come to escort the Lady to her lodgings. It is necessary that we leave now. Indeed it would be best to depart at this very moment." Those words had been meant for Lavinia.

Understanding that it was time, she rose from her seat with Baldwin's help. "I understand," she responded airily. A small smile graced her lips. "It is once more that I require your help, my lord. Yet unable to properly keep to my own feet as I am, I need a hand." Her head turned back to the King. "Your Highness, I take my leave now, with your permission."

Entrusting her into the capable hands of the Marshall, Baldwin nodded his assent. "I wish you a good night, my lady." His hand brushed hers, a flash of a movement.

"Good night to you too, Highness," Lavinia offered. "Let us be on our way Marshall." One last node was exchanged by the young lovers before Tiberias assisted Lavinia in crossing the room and heading into the hall.

Torch lit passages stretched out before them. Just as she made to take a step forward, Tiberias held her back. Lavinia's eyes snapped to his. She questioned him silently. The Marshall held her gaze with his own but said not one word. He looked to be deep in thoughts, yet even as such aware of her every fidget and small quail. It seemed that secrets were all around Lavinia, her hopes of a simple life thrown out the window. The woman was not to have the much craved peace she had oft with much fervour. A strange thing life, Lavinia decided not a moment later as she still held fast onto the Marshall's eyes. One could not but let themselves be guided through it while believing to be making their own decisions.

For his part, the older lord thought back to his morning. He was unsure if to issue a warning to the lady on his arm or keep quiet. Such affairs were tricky things, even more so as they involved the ficklest of beings.

"The Lady Agnes wishes to make your acquaintance," he finally delivered, face an inexpressive mask.

Not unknown to her though the information was, Lavinia accepted it with a small inclination of her head. "It is not unexpected for a mother to wish thus. She must be curious as to whom would be her daughter-in-law."

"And to whom would rule alongside her son," Tiberias added in a nonchalant manner, pretentious as it was. "I warn you, Lady, 'tis a dangerous game you play."

"I play not," Lavinia protested, regaling him with a sharp glare. "These are matters not to be trifled with, nor am I of so little mind as to attempt it."

"Pardon me." The Marshall guided her down the narrow staircase. "I'd not meant to suggest that. However I still maintain that danger shall forever be at your heels from this moment on. You have accepted more than the love of a man."

"I have accepted," Lavinia breathed out, brown eyes staring aimlessly ahead, "I am aware, duties and hardship and powerful allies, as well as strong enemies. Do not fret over it, my Lord Marshall. I walk my path with wide open eyes. Danger might haunt me, but I shall always to my best to outsmart it."

"Outsmart it you shall!" Tiberias proclaimed in a dry voice. "But for how long will you manage fend them all off? A year? A decade or two? For how long, my Lady, shall you keep the wolves at bay?"

"For however long the need is there," she replied staunchly. Resolve shone in her eyes. "The evil must be cleansed from the root. I shall suck all the poison out and the snakes will lose their heads. Marshall, I am determined to succeed. I shall not rest easy should I fail at this. "

"Then I shall count myself lucky to have such a Queen to serve," the man said quite simply. Her plan was not a feasible one, he knew very well. Yet her unwavering attitude merited at least acknowledgement. She was a dreamer and when her delusion was past, when the dust of it dirtied the floors, she would understand the impossibility. Until then, Tiberias could relive through her the impassionate and impetuous motivation of youth; the sweet illusion that the world could be changed by ideals. She was perhaps foolish, but not ill-intentioned.

Continuing on their way, the two made for the Marshall's residence. It was to be reached after a short ride, invigorating exercise loved by both lord and lady. Lavinia was sure she would be able to adapt and thrive under the care of such a man as was appointed to her. Moreover, she would gain an indispensable asset, she thought, in her favour. Naught would gladden her heart more than to finally be rid of Guy's influence at court. One way or another, she would find a weakness to exploit. She had to; unless she was willing to lose her life to the hands of that bane.

Godfrey de Ibelin was contemplating similar thought to those of young Lavinia. He sat on a low stool, downing copious amounts of alcohol into his awaiting mouth. Guy was growing ever bolder. The caravans were safe for the moment but only for the intervention of Tiberias and the King. How long until Guy and his acolytes took it into their heads to start the raids once more? How long would the King last? And what was to happen after his death?

The poor boy, so young and so burdened, the lord considered, tapping his fingers against the table. It had been him to discover the horrible truth, the nature of a young boy's unresponsiveness to pain. Godfrey de Ibelin had loved the child-king like his own son; the son he never got to know. Unfair and unjust was what he named Baldwin's fate as. Yet he had not the power to change it, nor force enough to oppose it. He could barely live his own life.

"Every time I see you," a distinct female voice rose from behind him, "you look just a little bit older. And wearier. Pray tell, what ails you?"

The Baron craned his neck to look behind him. "What ails me at all times," he replied, not without a hint of buried affection. "You should not be here, Sibylla." The name rolled past his lips with a wistful tinge. "It is dangerous to meander through the dark."

"But I am in the company of friends," the woman whispered, taking a seat next to him. "Surely they would not desert me when I most need them." Kohl rimmed eyes pierced through the man before her. "Surely," she repeated slowly.

Gazing upon her now, clad those vivid colours she loved so much, her hair down and her eyes bright, Godfrey sighed. "That they wouldn't." She looked a child again. She looked as she did then when she was first wedded to William, slender and pale and absolutely charming.

That was the way he would always remember her, Godfrey supposed. To him, Sibylla would forever be that woman-child who had little luck in her life but indefinitely more than him. She would forever be the daring little girl who begged to be taught how to ride when she was yet young to mount a horse. And, indeed, she would be the princess who asked for love from the wrong persons all through her life.

Most of all, she was to remain his one and only daughter. Sibylla had grown up before his eyes. The young girl had matured into a woman through strife and hardships and failures. She was not the same, but not entirely different either. "I am what I am," she often told him and he took that to heart. Sibylla could be no one but herself as it suited her best.

Her persistent flow of words brought him back, out of his dreamlike state. "I am finding it very difficult to gain your attention this evening." She regarded him strangely. "Are you certain you shall bear my company quite well?"

"Even better, I'm certain," Godfrey retaliated, still not loosing the vaguely amused edge to his words. "When have I ever given you the impression 'twas not so?"

Sibylla smiled at him. "I recall no such occurrence, yet I am not the best source from which such material could be extracted. I'm afraid we shall have to ask dear Tiberias when we see him."

Knowing what he knew, Godfrey agreed. Tiberias, due to his longstanding connection to the King and Princess, knew much more than mine. And, of course, his memory was superior to any other's. The man could flawlessly remember thing most would not give any importance to, thing all too easily thrown away, locked in the back of one's mind. Such was his gift and Godfrey resent that not. Should his memory be so sharp, the lord of Ibelin would most likely find himself with a bottle in his hands much too often. Memories were painful; they brought only discomfort upon him.

"How is the little prince these days?" Godfrey stared into the sky, absently letting his mind wander away.

"As always, he is fine," Sibylla answered, she too glancing upwards to the heavens. "He is fine."

"Does he still refuse to sit through his lessons?" It was, at times, hard to obtain the answers one sought; especially with Sibylla.

"He does as he can," she cautiously offered. "I am trying my very best to prepare him for what is to come." Then she breathed dejectedly. "I wish it not! But what can I do?"

"Be a good mother to your son and worry not." Some would find it useless to worry over unchangeable things; some would even find it idiotic. "Come what may, forget yourself not. You are Sibylla, the Princess of Jerusalem."

"I am Sibylla, the Princess of Jerusalem," she repeated his words, feeling oddly grateful. "I will not forget that," she continued after a second of silence. It was a promise to him and to herself and, maybe, even to the open vastness around them.

"There! That settles it." The Baron gave a smirk at the woman who did not look his way. "As to anything else you shall have to find your own way of coping. I daresay you will be marvellous, my Lady."

Accepting his words with a shrug, Sibylla brought her knees to her chest, placing her head upon them. As a young girl, Godfrey had been one of the much admired knights she sought the company of. She'd been a child, yet this man had showed her compassion. He had been willing to listen to her sorrows. He had soothed her. How could she have helped herself and not love him for that? And that affection had endured throughout the years, thought her childhood and into her adulthood. She loved him still, too much to measure. He was her dear Godfrey.

Unwittingly, her hand touched his. They were two people who shared as strong a bond as parent and child. Had Godfrey been a younger man by twenty years, had Sibylla been a different sort of woman than she was raised to be, perhaps their relationship would have evolved into something altogether different. But they were who they were, with no plans of changing; thus he was father and her daughter. It was as it always had been for them. While they would esteem one another always and perhaps secretly regret the impossibility of something else or more, they would submit to fate.

"I fear what is to pass," Sibylla disclosed. "If only because I cannot control the outcome, I fear. Is it strange of me to do so? I oft wonder at it. Shall I consider myself a coward for feeling things such as this?"

"To fear is perfectly human." The lord of Ibelin pushed the next words out his mouth, "What makes one brave is facing those fears and, in the end, overcoming them." He drummed his fingers against the wood as if waiting for something to happen; perhaps a proof of some kind. Or it could be just an involuntary gesture that meant little to nothing.

* * *

_**A/N: Ah, and finally a new update! I am finally done with my overly taxing and exasperating papers. Finally! Anyway, soon I'll have to take other entry exams for University and then it'll be a whole lot of work for me. So don't take it to heart if I update very slowly. **_

_**I will try not to keep you waiting too long. But that's all I can promise.**_

_**Anyway, tell me what you think now that you've read this chapter.**_


	10. Chapter 10

Blood smeared across her palm, Lavinia winced. She looked at the cut with a small amount of irritation. In retrospect it would have been better if she's paid attention. One of the servants fussed over her, gently washing the red stains away from her palm. "Do not look so worried," Lavinia said to the woman attending her cut. "It is of no consequence." She imagined she's caused quite a stir, yet she felt no remorse for it. Such small incisions did not merit a commotion as the one the Marshall's household made. It was perfectly unreasonable and therefore fairly entertaining.

"It is their duty to care for you, Lady," Tiberias spoke loudly, demanding Lavinia's attention. "Allow them to do so."

"You are back, Marshal!" Her hand instinctively pulled out of the servant's grasp to rise in greeting. "I would have expected the visit to last longer. How is His Highness?"

"Mercy! But you do lack patience, dear girl." The man smiled at his own assessment, a wry upturn of his lips. "I've yet to regain my breath and you jump at me like a wolf."

"A wolf, aye," she agreed, mirth shining in her eyes. "With sharp fangs and pointed claws." Admittedly, impatience was one of her flaws.

Lavinia tapped one of her fingers against the desk frame. Impulsive as she was, the young woman did recognise the potential danger that was being thrown upon her. Patience could be learned, like any acquired taste, she thought. It would take time, but it was not an impossible task. She would simply strain herself a bit to wait things through. If nothing else, the challenge would prove engaging enough to keep her occupied until she could see her beloved again. Lavinia spared the window a glance, eyes fixed on the blinding daylight.

"The King is well," the man finally said. "I have brought a guest. She wishes very much for you to keep her company for a few moments."

In that moment, Lavinia guessed exactly whom he was referring to. "I would not dare refuse." She rose to her feet as the door opened and Tiberias mimicked her. Making her bows, Lavinia's eyes remained on the woman who had just entered.

Agnes looked much like her daughter. The years had shaped her well. Dark curls framed a delicate face, however, from underneath curling lashes, sharp eyes conducted a quick analysis. "I have been long curious to meet you," she said by way of greeting. Sure, wide steps took her right in front of Lavinia. Placing her fingers underneath the maiden's chin, she drew her head up. Two pairs of dark eyes met and held. Seemingly pleased by what she found in the younger woman's gaze, Agnes nodded her head. "You'll do." She took a step back and her lips pulled in a slight smile.

Relief coursed through Lavinia. It seemed she had passed the inspection. "My Lady," she spoke, her voice undulating. It was almost like facing one of the beasts in the legends. With the exception that Lavinia's courage could not measure up to theirs. She was no Theseus, after all. Her hands shook with the effort it took to keep them still. She did not know what to say to the one standing in front of her. Her mind drew up a blank. It was like she had forgotten herself and all words along with that. Lavinia sighed.

Had it been her way, the Lady Agnes would have laughed at the sheer relief on the girl's face. Her son's choices were not always what she would wish for him, but this once he had done the right thing. The youthful slip of a woman before her exhibited something special. Despite her almost palpable fear, the girl had not retreated. Still, she hadn't willingly met Agnes' eyes. That showed balance. There were so few being of balance. Agnes sat down motioning for the other two to join her. She was hardly done, her interest roused. "The Marshal tells me you had a run-in with Saladin." She waited a beat, "Well, girl?"

"I spent a number of days in his encampment." Lavinia's eyes shot up. She hadn't expected to be questioned about her abduction. "It was most peculiar."

Shrugging, Agnes put a hand on her knee. "Saracens! 'Tis not his way to harm the defenceless. You had luck on you side, girl." Behind the apparent disdain, Lavinia could clearly see begrudging respect.

Certainly, luck had played great part in her encounter with the Muslims. More than that, Lavinia had had the support of a king. "One can view it like that, my Lady. " She did not voice the belief that Saracens were no less honourable than Christians. It would not do to anger the lady.

"I trust you are intact," the mother brought forward. She gave the girl a meaningful look. "Don't waste all day, girl, and answer me."

Blood rushed to Lavinia's face. So intimate was the matter that she could not help it when her stare jumped to the Marshal. How could she possibly offer an answer with the man in the room? "My Lady," she started but never got to finish.

"Do not shy away of account of the Marshal. He is family." Seeing the confusion of the girl's face, Agnes let out an amused snort. "I see, you do not know exactly whom keep company with. 'Tis awfully rude of you, Raymond, to keep the girl in the dark." The words were accompanied by a sly stare in the direction of lord Tiberias.

"Excuse me?" Lavinia looked from the woman to the man, no less perplexed than before. "What is it that my lady means? The Marshal is family?"

Tittering in delight, Agnes let it be known that she found mirth in the whole situation. "Raymond is cousin of my king-husband Amalric. He is Count of Tripoli and Prince of Galilee and Tiberias." Her explanation filled the room. "I see we have much work to do."

"Forgive me my inadequacy." Lavinia threw Tiberias a withering look. He could have told her. "I shall improve, I assure you."

"I know you shall," Agnes agreed. "You are to be under my guidance. If you do not improve then there is no hope for you. Now, now, do not look so despondent."

Lost was it to Lavinia whether the lady before her was genuinely comforting her or mocking her. One could never be sure with Lady Agnes, Lavinia had been told. Frivolity was not the only thing for which the king's mother was known. She had a certain wit about her and a love for discomforting others. In fact it was something she did with utmost pleasure.

"I believe there is still a question to be answered," Tiberias broke the silence. His words brought Lavinia out of her stupor. The lord watched her intently.

"I retain my maidenly status yet," Lavinia replied, cheeks darkening. What consequence that had, she could not tell.

"That is a good thing." Agnes' face adopted a serious mien. "While it would have been no true tragedy if you weren't, it makes it all easier that you are."

"I do not understand," she pressed. "For which reason does it make it any less difficult? Could you explain?"

Being that Lavinia was an illegitimate child, her maidenly virtue was more important than it would normally be. Unwilling to explain such facts, Agnes simply smiled. "I could, yes indeed, I could. However I won't. You shall have to find that out on your own."

Thwarted, Lavinia frowned. "I see." Could she have said anything else? "I trust your curiosity has been sated, my Lady?"

"Oh, no! Not at all!" Dark pools cut right through Lavinia. "Silly child, of course not. I am all the more curious about you now that I've finally met you. We are to spend an appropriate amount of time together. I wish to know you."

Trials far from over, Lavinia felt doubt creep its way inside of her. One small seed was enough for strong roots to take hold. "Indeed."

"Now the, as I believe we've settled that particular matters, I have something else to tell you." Agnes waited for Lavinia to look at her. "My daughter wishes you to join us at the banquet. Come, and I shall make sure you catch a few moments with my son."

Fate must have been smiling upon her. Lavinia's eyes widened in delight. "Of course I shall." She could not find the appropriate words to thank the woman. Tears shimmered, ready to fall. It hadn't been long that she had been parted from her King – just a couple of weeks – but the prospect of seeing him filled her to the brim with unadulterated happiness.

"That settles it." Facing away from the young woman, she turned to Tiberias. Agnes extended her hand. "I am grateful to you, Marshal, yet I find myself in need to leave. I have other duties to attend to."

A tight smile made the corners of Tiberias' mouth twitch. "I shall accompany you on you way, my lady. Lady Lavinia, we shall see one another in the evening, I assume."

"You would be correct," Lavinia answered, not taking her eyes from Agnes. "I bid you farewell."

"And I you," The woman replied, not at all bothered by the insistence of Lavinia's stare.

Meanwhile old acquaintances met again. Guy eyed the newly arrived Candida with weighing eyes. He'd heard stories of her from his wife. This woman too had been a special friend of the King's once upon a time. For the life of him, Guy could not understand what these women saw in the leper. However what he saw before him pleased the man greatly. Surely he could find some use for the young widow. The opportunity was too good to be passed. Courteous to the tip of his last small finger, the princess' husband bowed to the lady, a smile on his face.

Candida returned the bow with one of her own. She took the time to asses the man before her, mind forming all manner of plans. They said of Guy that he was a man of great power and even greater charm. Candida could see why. He was a man made for seduction. No woman could escape those eyes of his. It was understandable that the princess of Jerusalem had fallen for him when she first saw him, or so the story went. Still, Candida drew on her skill of enchantment and considered the benefits of allying herself with him. It was worth considering.

"I am surprised that you have returned, my Lady," Guy said in a soft manner that did not quite hide his intentions from the woman.

"Why should it surprise you, my Lord. I am a daughter of this land and have come back to where I was happiest." Candida closed her eyes a moment. She waited for his next move.

"My apologies," Guy murmured. "I was, I'm afraid, speaking of an entirely different matter." At her sharp look he let a grin wash over his face. "You are to gain little here."

Understandably, Candida had to consider her answer. "I have as much to gain as ever I did before. Nothing has changed."

"On the contrary, Lady, everything has changed," he contradicted. "Waning is your reign; at an end one would say."

Mind games had never been to her liking, Candida recalled. And Guy was just playing one such game with her. Her eyes became narrow slits. Was this some sort of test she was expected to pass? What did the man want of her? Whatever it was she was sure she could provide. Candida met his stare with one of her own, having a care to infuse enough steel in her gaze to let Guy know she would not back down. A woman of her sort was seldom to go wrong in obtaining what she desired. But the real question was; what did Guy wish her to win?

"The end is mine to command. And I say 'tis not the end," she replied in a manner that brooked no argument. Lady Candid was that sure of her power.

"And I warn that the end is nearer than you believe," Guy offered. "You do understand the danger you are in, do you not, my Lady?"

"I do not know what you speak of," Candida maintained, her face turning a shade paler. "I have nothing to fear."

"Do you truly believe that you will be safe when she find out who you are?" Guy's question was followed by a small shake of his head, as if to say he was mourning for her already.

"Whom do you speak of?" The eerie light that filtered through the high, small windows glowed almost menacingly to Candida's eyes. She was being used. Dear God, she was being used and had no qualms with walking right into the trap. And for what? What would she gain out of it? "Who is she?"

"The one he loves," Guy taunted. "It had not crossed your mind that you could be so easily replaced, had it? And here you are."

Instinctive pride and self-assurance had always guided Candida's steps. "I cannot be replaced." But it was disbelief that poured out of her words. So that had been it? "I cannot be replaced," she repeated for her own benefit. She needed to believe in the words that left her lips. "I cannot be replaced." And most certainly not by some silly, little chit who was a newcomer at court. Tears shone in her eyes, and the Lady with golden hair fought to put a determined look on her face. She would not lose. Lady Candida did not know how to lose.

"Apparently you can and you have." A sadistic sort of grin crept on Guy's face as he twisted the proverbial knife further into the wound.

"Shall I prove you wrong, my Lord? Would that satisfy you?" Oh, she'd fallen headfirst into his trap. For some reason she could brush it away all too easily. It scared her and thrilled her. "I will prove you wrong."

Guy waited to hear nothing more. The foolish woman would do as he willed. And she'd been so easy to convince. All the mighty ones fell hard. Like a serpent coiling around the mouse, jaws opening to swallow the prey, Guy circled her.

"You may try," he said, a sceptical mask settling over his features.

"I will succeed," Candida assured him.

"We shall see," he responded to her, his adopted mien remaining the same.

"Do not placate me. I have no need of that." Candida turned on her heels and made to move away from Guy. He was an exhausting person to converse with.

"Will you attend the banquet?" he called out after her, tone mockingly softening.

"That I shall," Candida gritted out, hands folding into the material of her dress

"Good. She will be there," Guy let this woman know. His very bones screamed with the certainty of it. The King would not miss such a chance to see his beloved. However he would have a surprise waiting for him. Guy did so love it when people did as he bid them, and Lady Candida was making him exceedingly content. It remained to be seen whether or not she would manage to drive a wedge between that wretched woman and the King. But should she fail, Guy knew he would never have such an opportunity ever again.

In another part of the palace, weaving her fingers together, Sibylla laughed softly at her brother's antics. "We are not children any longer," she reminded him. The princess watched her King pace across the room. "Fretting about won't make the passing of time any easier. But do you know what it will accomplish?"

"Do enlighten me," Baldwin spoke, directing the sort of look only an exasperated brother could level to his sister. "I am all agog to hear it."

"No doubt you are," she teased, fanning herself languidly. "Brother mine, you shall waste all your energy with this fruitless pursuit." A light titter accompanied the telling stare she gave him back.

Deciding against submitting any sort of response to his sibling's needling, the King turned away from her. He slipped into the seat behind his desk. The papers strewn across the lacquered surface beckoned him. Baldwin picked one of them up and looked it over. At least some good was coming out of his torment. It seemed that the caravans were once more safe. For the moment, anyway. With Guy and his lot, no one could really be sure what was to follow. Tensing slightly at the thought which occurred to him, the man eyed his sister with a soul deep wariness.

There was of course, a brighter side to it all. He would be seeing Lavinia soon. Not soon enough for his liking, but soon nonetheless; as soon as it was possible. His sister was hosting on of her banquets again and she had sent his beloved an invitation. Baldwin knew she did it for him. It was Sibylla's way of showing both approval and support of his cause. The King was almost sure his sister was already planning every small detail in her mind. Such was her way. He could not be gladder for it than he was at the moment.

"Tell me, where has mother run off to now?" Baldwin asked. Despite not being able to move about as freely as he would have liked, the King did have eyes and ears in every place that counted.

"You mean to tell me you do now know?" Playful wickedness shone in her eyes. "She did not mention anything to me, but I can tell you that she had been going on a lot of visits as of late." Lady Agnes was wont to do se when it struck her fancy, but she would let her daughter know where she was heading. It was strange of her not to say anything. Sibylla would have been worried had she not seen the positively delighted look in her mother's gaze. "Do not be worried over that, my King. Our mother will return. She always does."

Worry had not been on Baldwin's mind in any event. "I see." His mother could keep a secret if she so desired and it looked like she did. "Then we shall have to ask her upon the time we see her next." With some luck she would offer a feasible reply to her two children.

The ghost of a smile passed on Sibylla's face. She would never really understand her brother. He was a dichotomy. The man ruled a kingdom when he could hardly rule his own body and he held so much love that one could not help but be baffled at the hatred he let loose at times. A walking contradiction was what her brother was and Sibylla could do nothing but accept that.

"But not too quickly," she added to his plan. "Mother will think herself interrogated and that would make her reluctant to answer at all. I do believe that would spoil things for us and we shall not get to find out just what she has been doing."

They would not find what she had been doing even if they didn't question Agnes. Sibylla knew it, Baldwin knew it too. But no one said it. What would the point of it be? Some things were not mean to see the light of day. They were best left alone and forgotten, buried somewhere deep under where no one would find them. Unfortunately it was those exact things that came to the surface without invitation. They tended to ruin everything in their wake.

Sibylla allowed herself a moment in which to relax completely. Something in the air bothered her. Such premonitions were not strange to her. She'd had them before. Usually she could ignore them and move one. It seemed she would not do so again.

"You feel it too, don't you?" her brother posed the question, eyes lingering on a burning candle. "Don't you?"

"Aye. It is most uncomfortable." She didn't know exactly what it was that made her uneasy. However she did not impart that sentiment to her brother. A change of subject would be most welcome. "Have you received any reply from Isabella?"

"Indeed I have," the man admitted. His hand touched a written piece of paper on his desk. He seemed to be lost in thought.

"And what does she say?" Sibylla leaned over in her chair. Her eagerness was a result of her distress at earlier feelings.

"Not much I imagine," Baldwin drawled. "At her age, a vast vocabulary is the last thing she possesses." She was after all not much older than his nephew.

"I was referring to her nurse, for I believe she is the one who wrote in reply to you." The women arched one of her brows in expectation.

"Very well then," Baldwin gave in, "she is allowed to come at court for a short period. I did not think her mother would allow her."

"Nor did I, but it seems that both of us were wrong." Sibylla raised a hand towards her brother. "Who would have thought the old dragon would mellow so?"

"You lack of respect for the woman is worrying," the King countered softly. "She is, I remind you, of royal lineage."

"As am I," she uttered in a clipped tone. "It would be wrong of you to forget that."

Frankly, Baldwin could not forget it even if he wanted to. Sibylla was his sister. She would always be and thus their bond would never break.

Similar thoughts paraded through Sibylla's head. It was the reason for which she decided to finally speak of what worried her most. "Are you aware that Lady Candida is back?"

Stunned into silence, Baldwin regarded his sister with doubt. "When?" he asked after a shirt moment in which he focused his entire attention of Sibylla. "When did she come back?"

"Not that long ago." Kindly putting her hand to his, Sibylla sighed. "What shall you do?"

"About?" He could not interfere in this matter, even if he would have wanted to. His confusion was nearly blatant between the two of them.

"About Lady Candida?" What she had wanted to ask was whether or not he still felt something for the woman. For if he did, complications would arise.

"There are times when I think all of you quite lose your heads," Baldwin confessed. "Lady Candida was dear to me when I was but a boy. Both she and myself have moved further. Do not fear, sister, my heart has already chosen."

"Is it something I should not have asked?" Blue eyes peered at him questioningly. His sister was unsure.

"Admittedly, the query in itself is somewhat daft. You asked if I would choose Candida over Lavinia. I ask you thus: how could I possibly choose anyone I do not know. It has been long since I have spoken to Lady Candida." Drumming his fingers to the wood, the man continued, "I know her not as she is. To me she'll always remain a child I used to have a merry time with."

"Well, if you put it thus." Embarrassment flooded Sibylla's cheeks. She hadn't thought it through and had spit out the first words that came to her.

"Is there anything else you wish to know?" The King took a quill, his attention shifting to the documents he had yet to attend.

"Nay, brother. I have taken enough of your time for the day. I shall leave you be." Getting up from her seat slowly, Sibylla gave one last glance to her sibling. "I shall be seeing you."

Concentrating on the task at hand, Baldwin let his sister drift through the doors. Time had indeed been passing to slow for his liking. The reports in his hands were favourable enough. Details, numbers and names, he took in with forced interest. His mind longed to touch upon another subject yet Baldwin steered his thought away. There was a time and a place for such, but this was not it. Hopefully he would be put out of his misery once evening came. Until that time he was to occupy himself with the affairs of his state and not allow his thoughts to stray.

Yet the task was a difficult one when not even his heart was in it. Baldwin sighed deeply, scanning the words written on the paper. Reinforcing his choice, the King proceeded to analyse the matters that had raised problems for the councillors.

A breeze passed through the room, softly pushing at the papers as it went.

Down in the gardens, surrounded by maids and servants, a young prince battled against enemy forces. Sibylla's son was running with a wooden sword in his hand, chasing an old servant man. The boy brandished his weapon with bravery, slashing through empty air. His exuberance and zest could not be contained. He was a child who looked no different from many others, at the age of innocence. The world he lived in was perfect and knew no hindrances.

"I am Prince Baldwin of Jerusalem. You shall not escape me." His vows were accompanied by a swing of his sword. Meeting the weapon of his adversary, the child raised his head high. "Surrender and I shall show mercy."

The old man put on his best outraged face. "You are unable to beat me." Parrying a hit from the boy, he pretended to lose his footing.

Seeing the advantage presented to him, Baldwin launched a full-scale attack. He brought the wooden structure to the servants' shoulder then to his neck, keeping it there. "I have defeated you. Now you are to pay for your reckless speech." The boy dragged the sword slowly across his opponent's neck. "Now you die."

Acting as if he had been sliced open, the man fell to his side with a moan of pain. A large hand was pressed to his neck in a way which was to say he was stemming the bleeding. "You are a far greater fighter than I. It was an honour to die by your sword." Dark eyes closed in an imitation of eternal sleep. The fight had been won by the prince.

"Did you see? I won!" The child turned around to his companions. "I won!"

"All hail the might warrior of Christendom!" a few of the women yield in appreciation. They giggled at the pleased look on little Baldwin's face.

The eldest of the women knelt in front of him. "The armies of the sand will tremble before you. No Muslim will think of you without terror in their soul. Never doubt that you shall defeat any enemy foolish enough to rise against you." Her piece having been played, she climbed to her feet, an indulgent smile lingering on her lips.

Elated at the prises lavished upon him, the youngling's face split in a radiant smile. "Raed, to your feet. I want to play some more."

Bound to the wishes on the prince, Raed rose to his full height and picket his wood carved sword from the ground. "Be it as you will, little Highness."

Mistakenly thinking that he had the upper hand, the boy turned a made speedy twirl to bring his sword in an arch. To the horror of all present he fumbled and ended up sprawled on the ground, dust rising above him.

Two young women hurried to help him up, patting his clothes lightly to drive the dirt away. The bewildered eyes of the prince darkened in petulance. His face clouded and they all knew he was about to start crying.

"Are you hurt, my prince?" the woman to his right asked, trying her very best to distract the child from what looked to be a scratch on his palm. "Does it pain you?"

"Nay," he replied in a meek voice. Sniffling softly, he watched the angry red line on his hand. "It hurts me not at all," he declared. And he was speaking the truth. Not even a prickle bothered him.

"There, there," the other woman to his left consoled the boy. "You are a brave young man, to stoically endure such sting." Beaming proudly at the boy she ran a hand through his thick locks.

Pulling away from the couple of women holding him up, the young Baldwin bent to retrieve his sword. He held the object up for a better inspection. Viewing it with great attention, the boy nodded just once to show his approval of its state. "Raed, let us proceed," he ordered, taking up his usual stance. The high guard he sported made for an interesting sight.

"Aye, Your Highness." The man returned to his own position, feet planted firmly to the ground and a bit apart. "Let us proceed then."

"What is happening here?" the shrill, somewhat alarmed voice of Sibylla interrupted the game. "What are you doing, son?"

"Maman!" small Baldwin whined, earning himself a stern look from the dark haired woman. "We were just playing?"

"What sort of play is this?" she returned angrily, marching up to him. Sibylla then forced the wooden sword away from his hands. It was then that she saw his palm. "What happen?" None offered a response to her query. "I demand to know what happened to my son!"

"There is hardly need to worry for 'tis just a scratch," someone said. "His Highness took a little tumble, but he is unharmed."

"Unharmed?" echoed Sibylla. "You call this unharmed." She grabbed her son's hand and held it up. "You call this unharmed? Take him to his rooms immediately and see to the cleaning of his injury."

"But maman, I am well. I promise to you. Let me stay a while longer," her son pleaded, worrying his lower lip between tiny, pearly teeth. "Please!"

"Go now," she instructed, turning away from the boy. "You have been at play enough for one day. It is time to concentrate on your lessons." Sibylla breathed heavily as the child was led away by the servants. His cries hanged about her even as he was out of sight. Heart squeezing painfully, Sibylla brushed her tears away. "Who allowed him to play such foolish games?" Once more, the servants remained silent. "You will tell me right this instant."

That part of her that was a mother cried out for retribution. How could they have put her son in danger? How could she not have known of it? Sibylla berated herself as she waited for answers. Her only child, her beloved son, could grow ill. One single cut was enough for one frail such as him. And she would not forgive herself should he lose his life in such a manner. It was outrageous. It made her blood boil. The Princess turned her cold eyes to each and every one of her servants. If they refused to speak she would read the guilt on their face. One way or another she would find the one responsible. Or all would lose their heads.

"I am giving you one more chance," she said, loudly enough for all to hear. "I am willing to forgive you, if only you tell me which of you allowed this. I shall forgive you, you have my word. But I need to know which one of you is responsible."

Raed took a step forward to the astonishment of his peers. "My Lady, 'twas I who did it. The young Prince asked to play with the wooden swords," he explained. Dark orbs stared ahead blankly. His fate was sealed the moment he stepped forward.

"May God have mercy on you," Sibylla's emotionless voice cut through all present. "I forgive you. Yet I cannot keep you here. Leave my sight," she commanded.

Away the man went.

* * *

_**A/N: Yes, I know. Long time, no update. You have my deepest regret for that because I know some of you really enjoy this story.**_

_**Anyway, this chapter, I wrote almost all of it in one day. Don't ask me how I did it. I honestly have no idea aside from the fact that it was exhausting. I hope you like it. Feel free to speak your thoughts on it.**_


	11. Chapter 11

Merriment and goodwill, Lavinia recognised with a smidge of queasiness to the particular line of thought, were best met with a firm mask of cheer and the unwavering certainty that one was being deceived. Any court was a dangerous place to be. Even more so when the chance of advancement was present. For who would overlook the opportunity of progression and additional wealth? Not the knights and noblemen of court, that was for certain. It was understandable and even expected of them to act in a manner that would assure them a higher position. For this Lavinia supposed she could not fault them; not she who had been raised a simple girl.

Wealth and luxury were a comfort, certainly so. And Lavinia did appreciate fine clothing and sparkling chains of silver and gold. But they could not change the coldness of the realm. It would always stand as a wonder to the woman how these nobles sought to replace honesty with treachery and honeyed words. One look towards Guy would portray her point fairly well. The husband of Princess Sibylla was one such man. He had raised to his current position trough such less than desirable methods. What was more, he continued on this path in hopes of gathering even more power.

Influence mattered to most participants in this charade of amity and harmony. Supremacy was the ultimate goal and the sole purpose of the aristocrats. Whether it be control of a land or sway over a person of distinct importance, or even both, was not worth contemplating. Lavinia found herself remembering her time in the Saracen camp. A pawn had been thrown her way and she had refused to accept that as her position. In a way she too was not unlike the courtiers. Of course, her desire for power had its roots in the need of protection. Mayhap she was a dreamer, yet Lavinia was no fool.

But those who had power, often got drunk off of it. Her King was a notable exception. Would she be the same? It brought a chill over her entire body when she thought about the promise she'd made to Guy. Had she not promised she would see to demise? Those had been the words of an inexperienced little fool who had an idyllic view of the world. She'd thought herself capable of attaining the submission of an arrogant creature with enough power to crush her. A confrontation with Guy required more than empty threats. It was only then that Lavinia understood while he'd only ever laugh at her words.

Which only brought Lavinia back to her initial question. If she were to be granted power, would she be capable of wielding it wisely? The woman could only hope it would be so. Fortunately she would benefit from the council of Lord de Ibelin and the Marshal of Jerusalem. They were men of character. And she would be able to defer to her future husband's judgement in case of uncertainty. In the meantime, she would have to watch out for Guy and his schemes. It would be foolish to neglect them.

The sound of dogs barking brought Lavinia out of her reverie. She climbed to her feet with a gentle elegance as Sibylla's three dogs ran to the table. They were sleek, short furred and slender built beasts, of graceful movement. They were also quite lovable if one overlooked their tendency to growl when they were not pleased. Lavinia for her part held them in warm regard. Animals were more trustworthy than people. They could not lie, nor deceive. Honesty shone in their guileless eyes. Never was there a friendship truer than that of such a creature.

Glancing to the ground, Lavinia licked her lips as a sign of indecision. She wished Sibylla would appear so she could be about her own activities. Namely she wished to pat the head of the dog that had burrowed itself into the folds of her dress.

A chance at disappointment did not arrive, for Sibylla came, joined as she was by Guy. Lavinia fell into a bow without hesitation, Lady Agnes to her side doing the same. Sibylla with her usual lively gait and a smile greeted them all. She looked a proud woman on the arm of her husband and one would not think her at all capable of experiencing any hardship.

Finally able to sit, Lavinia breathed out. Her hand promptly travelled to the whimpering animal's head. It seemed grateful for the given affection, its wet nose nuzzling against her leg through the heavy curtain of her gown. The waggling tail made her swallow her laughter. She needed to retain her poise. This was especially difficult with the likes of Sibylla's pet badgering her for attention. Her fingers splayed on the warm fur, sliding in a caress. It was rather soothing an action for both human and beast.

As was her way Sibylla engaged the people present in conversation. Her face did not smile but the sparkle in her eyes was the closest she would ever be to showing others her emotions. With the King's sister one needed to be close to receive anything but stern placidity. It was good of her not to let in many. After all, she too was concerned primarily with her own success and that of her family. Those born in high position were generally known to strive for even higher peaks.

Her companion, Guy, on the other hand, kept a close watch on the men and women surrounding him. His eyes cut through everyone as if to read into all of them and their intentions. His forays into the company of these people gave him an advantage. Unlike Lavinia, Guy knew what to expect of them. He knew not to trust them. If he could control them that was well, if not he would dispose of them. When he met the gaze of the King's protégée, a sly smile formed on his face and he brought his cup heavenward in a mocking salute.

"I wish you to meet someone," Agnes distracted Lavinia from Guy's impertinence. The King's mother paid no mind to her son-in-law in favour of caring for Lavinia.

Demurely, Lavinia placed her hands in her lap. "Of course," she said in a clear voice. Dark eyes regarded the lady who had been kind enough to take her under her wing. Apprehension settled into the pit of her stomach, yet she schooled her features into mask of neutrality. Nervousness had no place in this glittering new world. Such emotions were best kept for the privacy of one's rooms.

"I present to you the Lord of Sidon, my husband." Thus it was that Lavinia came to make the acquaintance of Reginald de Sidon, husband to the mother of her King.

Many things could be said of Reginald de Sidon upon first inspection. He was an extremely tall man, given to stoutness, yet decidedly not. His skin was tan, perhaps from being out in the sun. A fine mane of chestnut, straight hair adorned his head, his beard trimmed and no moustache. One detail worth mentioning was that the man had eyes of pale green. Lavinia had scarcely seen such a lovely colour before. Around his mouth a few lines could be observed, for he was no young man. And even so the man presented allure unmatched by any so far. He was a archetypal sort of handsome, the kind of man maidens mooned over. Why in his young days, Lavinia was sure the man had broken many a heart.

The evaluation done, Lavinia dipped her chin in a show of acknowledgement when Agnes proceeded to give her name and rank to the man. Reginald had watched her with attention, no doubt aware that she was set to become a companion to their King. If he thought the match an appropriate one or not, he did not say. Instead he set about determining the character of a lady unknown to him until that very moment.

Other conversations had started all around them. It was safe to assume that none would be paying attention to a girl of no power and an old knight. For what could they possibly speak that would interest the likes of Guy, his wife and other courtiers?

"You are a fine young lady," Reginald said, not at all bothered by the abashed look he received from Lavinia. "I do not doubt you are bright too." He paused, shifting in his seat, to acquire a better position, one would presume.

"If my lord has such a high opinion of me, then I shall not dream to dissuade him," Lavinia responded. She had little idea as to what prompted this course of discussion, yet her guard would not slip. She was quite determined.

Laughing at her wit, Reginald held one hand up. "Which brings me to this question: why risk your wellbeing, your very life here?"

One needed not be a genius to figure the meaning of such a question. "You need to posses something to risk anything, my lord."

"You claim your life is not your own?" She was an interesting little scrap of a woman, Reginald decided. "Or do you hold it in such disdain that its loss would not distress you?"

"It is my heart that is not my own," Lavinia corrected with gentleness. "As for my life, I claim as much as I dare of it and my soul, knowing that their true owner is God." She searched his face, perhaps for understanding. "Is that what you wished to hear?"

"Indeed, my dear girl." Reginald did not hold back his smile. The man clearly admired the words she had spoken. "They spoke the truth about you sweet words and the steel beneath them."

"They?" Lavinia did not cover her curiosity. Too late did she notice it just as another grin took over his face. The question could not be taken back.

"You will learn, dear lady, that while you garner the interest of many, very few will show genuine concern and knowledge." He gave a discreet look around him. "Do not think you go about unnoticed. The walls have eyes and ears plenty."

And also traps and traitors at every step, Lavinia curbed her tongue before such an assessment could leave her mouth. Some things were known by all, yet they enjoyed feigning ignorance. Who was Lavinia to make waves in a perfectly calm see of deceit and intrigue? Donning a placid mien, the young woman assumed an innocent smile for the benefit of all present. Gossip was easily spread and could not be stopped once it passed a couple of lips. And what good could these do? None at all. Lavinia had detected no threat from the older man, so she replied in a manner that suggested absentmindedness.

"Then they should know better than to focus on one such as I." Toying with a tendril of hair that had escaped from pins and plaits, Lavinia prepared herself for a venomous answer.

"Does your own worth elude you?" Reginald seemed surprised. Mayhap he was used to women assured of their value, or it could be that he believed her foolish.

"On the contrary," she protested. "Do not mistake me, my lord. But I would prefer that only the eyes of one would follow me, rather than those of an entire court."

"And yet an entire court you shall get," Reginald offered, this time humour vanishing from his face. "Shall you not find it a hassle?"

Admitting to weakness would be just as good as giving away her own life. "I am a follower of rules," Lavinia voiced. "As such I shall abide the law and custom of this court if I am to be part of it."

"Ah, but you are part of it even now." Reginald did not speak further on the subject. Instead he turned to his wife and a look passed between the two of them.

Perplexed, Lavinia did not invite further conversation. She was glad to be left to her own device and a few moments of peace. In a way he had been right. She was part of the court as sure as her name was Lavinia. Reaching out, she pulled close one of the goblets filled with wine. A fine thing it was to be invited at a feast. Finer still would be ridding herself of all which encumbered her and see the only person she really did wish to be in the presence of. But the sun had yet to set, and she would have to wait at least until the torches were lit.

Quite suddenly, a chill crept up her spine. It was that particular feeling one got when one was being watched. As to not alarm whoever looked at her so intently, Lavinia gently turned her head, making it seem she was only glancing about for no discernable purpose.

With a start she came upon another pair of green eyes, these ones colder despite their vibrant colour. The owner was a young woman, perhaps not much older than Lavinia herself. There was something disconcerting about her though. Her lips smiled and her face was serene, but without doubt this woman had hidden depths. Her eyes, calculating and cruel, much reminded Lavinia of Guy. And then just as she was about to believe that impulsive thought, the expression on the unknown female's face changed. There was a considerable softening of her gaze which made Lavinia unsteady.

Doubt was never a good sign. A flighty mind could be a dangerous fault in someone. Lavinia broke away from the woman's stare, head inclining slightly. They had not been introduced, and upon further consideration Lavinia did not think they should be either. She would continue quite happily without the knowledge of the woman's name and rank.

Escape so easily obtained could not be a lasting thing. Still, Lavinia turned her attention to the food that had been served. Since coming to Jerusalem she had been acquainted with all manners of food and drink. Wine she liked best of the drink selection, while with food it stood to reason that she enjoyed all that had a good taste. When she'd been but a child in her parent's home she had learned that whatever was on the table was to be eaten. There had been no fussing and no picking, for how would she dare do so with what little they had? That was not to say Lavinia grew up in a state of constant hunger. She had been well-fed for a daughter of simple people.

Multiple kinds of meat had been brought to the table along with more fragrant wine and clear, sweet water. Lavinia shook away her worries for the time being. In a short while she would see Baldwin and for only a moment in his presence she was prepared to endure as many blood-chilling glares as it took. No, she decided as she fed, she would not let herself be frightened away.

"How pale you are child!" Agnes remarked, her hand gently touching Lavinia's cheek, pulling the young woman's attention to her. "Why, you hardly said a thing." She fussed over Lavinia, pursing her lips.

"I am quite fine," Lavinia whispered, eyes spying the torches that had been lit moments before. A sharp look from Agnes corrected her instantly. "I do feel somewhat faint."

"Then I insist that you take some time to yourself," Sibylla issued the order. One of her ladies approached at a mere sign. "See to it that Lady Lavinia is taken care of." Thus instructed the Princess.

Gingerly rising to her feet, Lavinia curtsied before allowing herself to be pulled away. It had caught her by surprise that Agnes had ushered her away with such speed, but she was not disappointed. Her being led away to a room could only mean that she was one step closer to seeing Baldwin. The victory was close at hand. Lavinia's only wish was the time would speed in her lover's absence and come to a standstill when she was in his presence. But such manipulations were beyond humans, she well knew and continued on her way.

Reaching her destination, she was guided into a room which she'd never seen before. It was not a surprising fact. The palace was a maze in Lavinia's mind, one she could not travel for she knew not its roads. Her time had been spent in the King's company in his quarters, or visiting with the little Prince and his mother. The gardens she's seen too, but no more than that. So it was understandable that Lavinia took a moment to marvel at her surroundings before gently sitting on the edge of the bed. Her head did feel like it was spinning.

"Merciful Lord," she whispered. In her astonishment she'd forgotten to wonder why she had not been taken to the King. Agnes' look had made her believe it was time for her to go to the King. And yet she had been given a room in which only she alone remained after the lady-in-waiting of the Princess had left her to rest and recuperate. It was odd. But Lavinia knew she could not step outside the room. At the table she'd given the impression of feeling ill and now she would have to keep up the pretence, unless she wanted to be discovered.

To be fair, it could be that the King himself had requested they not meet in his rooms. After all, she was to marry him in the future and it would be well of them to not give the wrong impression. Baldwin was the King and he could, of course, do as he wished, yet there were risks in breaking rules. That, and as Lavinia had said to Reginald de Sidon, she had every intention of following the rules. It had been a promise as much to him as it was to herself. One could not expect to win by disobeying the laws.

"I see you are dreaming away, fair lady," came a whisper, unexpected and heart stopping. As if conjured from the depth of her mind, Baldwin stood before Lavinia, clear deep blue eyes staring at her. Reacting with the speed of a flash, the woman pushed herself to her feet and threw her arms around the King. She clung to him for an infinite moment, words stuck at the back of her throat and heart racing inside her chest. It felt wonderful to be able to hold him so. "What do you dream of?"

Finding her voice, Lavinia smiled as she replied, "I only dream of you." But what a dream it was! She could stay forever in the safety of this dream if only to have him by her side. "And I tire so of dreaming, when reality is but s step away."

Moved by the sentiment behind those words, Baldwin caught her middle in his hands and lifted her. He'd been so accustomed to having her around that these past days of absence on her part had left emptiness inside of him. It had been very much like losing a limb, he imagined. "This is real."

Depositing her on the edge of the bed once more, the King joined her. They sat so close to one another that it mattered little if layers of cloth formed a barrier. It was a flimsy attempt to keep them apart and it did not work. Mayhap because they had been apart, reuniting made them very much more aware of one another. The heat simmered with an almost audible hiss.

Baldwin leaned in, tracing soft kisses from Lavinia's temple to the corner of her mouth. He stopped at that particular spot for a second, enjoying the stillness. Then he pressed his lips to hers. The gesture had lost the gentleness, gaining fervour in exchange. With a sharp tug, Baldwin pulled Lavinia's body flush against his, the female's frame yielding under firm hands. The grasp she released provided the King with an opportunity he could not miss. Slanting her to a more suited position, he brushed the tip of his tongue to her full lower lip. It was a daring move to be sure. One he could not be sure she would welcome.

After the initial shock of the deed, Lavinia had only a moment to consider the right choice. Unable to bear parting from him, she allowed his bold exploits to continue. A kiss could do no harm. Mirroring his movement, Lavinia found herself in a true battle of wills, one she instinctively participated in. Warmth pooled like molten lava inside of her. A fire had shot through her veins, leaving the woman unsteady, yet not unwell.

Possessing more knowledge than her, Baldwin could well recognise where their actions were leading them. He loved the taste of her on his lips and the feel of her in his arms. He could stay a thousand years pressed just so against her and not tire of her hold. The things he wished to share with her would likely make her blush. She was an innocent, he had to remind himself. And yet it mattered little to his body that she hardly had any idea what it was she was doing. All that his flesh registered was the fire with its scorching flame. He burned for her. He burned and maybe would keep doing so until he became ash and dust. But it pleased him to burn for her, so long as she did the same for him.

"What have you done to me, woman?" he rasped after managing to pull himself away from her lips but a second. "What manner of divine being are you?" Closing his eyes, Baldwin breathed in slowly.

"I love you," Lavinia answered with a naked sincerity. For what else could she say? He called her a divine being when she was but a woman. "That is all that I know. I love you." She shyly initiated the following kiss.

Somewhat calmed, the young man returned the affectionate gesture. "And I you." He needed not clarify. Instead, the King dropped his head onto her shoulder, in the space between her neck and shoulder. The fabric of her gown concealed what he could only imagine to be soft, warm skin. It was probably flushed, its rosy hue a whisper of the blood flowing underneath.

Confused by the sudden idleness, Lavinia brushed the dark head of curls as Baldwin had hidden his face. Ever so slowly she felt the heat within her wash away, until it left mere embers. Trying to cling to it was futile. So Lavinia turned her attention to her lover. "What had happened?" She more felt the groan against her shoulder than heard it, but Lavinia persisted. "Will you not tell me?"

All of a sudden, a low chuckle exploded from Baldwin's throat. He offered no response to her query, instead clutching her tighter. How could he possibly explain it to her? He knew from her tone that she had begun to worry. "Hold still, my lady," he instructed. A small prayer lifted towards the sky. It was to be hoped that she did not move, for restrain was a thin thread. Baldwin supposed he was to blame for this predicament. He'd known what kissing her would do to him, but he had proceeded. And then he had held her close, lost in her. He had known his control would weaver. He'd done it anyway.

Settling in her position, Lavinia frowned. He would not tell her what had happened and his answer had been an indicator that he wanted no further questions on the subject for the moment. Could she help it that her curiosity had been awakened? Surely not. Lavinia continued to comb her fingers through his hair tenderly. Perhaps if she waited a while longer he would prove more cooperative. After all, it could be nothing horrific; he had even laughed. That was certainly a sign. A worldlier woman would have understood, but innocent that she was Lavinia could not. Silence blanketed the man and woman.

Meanwhile, the feast went on, the guests assuming all problems had been taken care of for the moment. Amongst those that believed exactly that was one particular lady. Candida enjoyed her meal giving hardly a thought to what she'd seen happen before her very eyes. As a woman of experience, for she'd long babbled in such deceit herself, it was a most peculiar thing. However it could be easily explained. Candida had planned to study her prey.

It behooved her to take note of her opponent. And as far as she could tell, this struggle would most probably end in her favour. Oh, it was quite clear that the King's mother had taken a liking to the girl, but that was an obstacle easily deflected. What could a shy thing as that girl do to one such as Candida?

One strong gust of wind could lock the poor thing off f her shaky foundations. She'd not come to Jerusalem for a long time and already she had met Saladin. Who was to say this girl was not a spy for the Saracens. A well placed letter, properly signed, could take care of the problem. But that would be too uncomplicated. Candida wanted to show her superiority. A single measly letter would not suffice. No; she wanted to ruin this Lady Lavinia. She wanted to see her fall down, to return to the dust and filth where she came from. It was not difficult to tell that that small creature had not been born to a life of privilege. It showed on her face, subtle, but it was there nonetheless and Candida was determined to discover every sordid detail.

Criminality of any kind should convince the King of Lavinia's unworthiness as far as Candida was concerned. Better yet, her old friend would be grateful to her for saving him. An unprofitable marriage, or even a liaison, was not a desirable thing. Countless times she had been shown just that. Men would always be men and, in consequence, they would always seek the advantage in any situation. Candida had to determine the potential benefit the King could gain from Lavinia and then simply find a way to obliterate it. No man would stand alongside a woman who had nothing to offer to him.

Poison was also a solution to be considered. If Lavinia could not be disposed of any other way, a lethal dose of something or another should do the job just fine. It was not an expected outcome, yet it did hold some appeal. Venoms were weapons preferred by women, after all. One of little physical power and limited resources had to turn to poison in such delicate cases. And after her death, she would be forgotten and Candida would console those in need of it and gain the admiration and assurance she craved.

Guy watched his newest acolyte from his vantage position. She was playing along marvellously. Why hadn't he thought about this course of actions earlier on? Women were vengeful, treacherous snakes. They dealt poisonous bites with accuracy and determination. What was best they did it over matters of no importance. Exactly like this woman before him. She was willing to do anything to not be replaced. A foolish wish, Guy thought, but helpful to his cause. It was worth having her around. Lady Candida would take care of this thorn in his side in exchange for her so called desire.

Lepers seemed to attract a lot more attention that Guy would have thought. Though, to be fair, it was only one leper and those who lavished attention upon him were mindless women and cowardly, infidel supporters. Of course of the women, one was the mother and the other the sister. That still left two. Guy would have called them deranged and not paid them any mind, yet it was a curious thing. Both those ladies were unrelated to the man. One loved him, the other loved the attention. Or maybe both loved the power they could gain through him. As long as the leper lived whichever of the two held his attention would enjoy more than the admiration of a dying man.

Two queens fought for their right to absolute control. Both believed they were right. Ye only one of them knew about the battle of carried on. Guy had advised Candida to act in a friendly manner to her rival. It was generally easier to obtain information and such in that way. When one assumed the mask of friendship, the other party was often easily fooled into accepting the guise as real. All Candida had to do was lure Lavinia into making contact with her.

From there on, Guy did not doubt his plan would move on flawlessly. He would use the animosity between the court members. Old Tiberias and his friend de Ibelin would pull in one direction, Candida in another altogether. Lady Lavinia, so dear to the King's heart, would be torn in the end. She would not know what to do or who to listen too and her lover was too weak to protect her should she not be in his proximity. It was brilliant as far as Guy could tell. Any other problems could be worked on as they came.

Benefiting from all these, Guy would assume control of a divided court. He would dispose of anyone whom he did not trust and in their place bring men of his own choosing. There was only one obstruction, his wife. Sibylla loved her brother and as such she would try, at the very least to protect his beloved. She would not succeed, but her fighting him could cause some damage. Guy needed her if he ever hoped to take the throne. Sibylla was his only chance. Through her and that child his plans could come true.

Following his ascent to power, he would have to get rid of one of them or both. But Guy inclined towards keeping his wife. She was not the most docile of spouses, not the sweetest and certainly nothing like he would have wanted her. Despite all that, the years had made her a rather important part of his existence. If he did have to give her up, he would. But in the event that he did not, Guy supposed he could keep her attached to him. She'd been pleasant enough those first years of their marriage; she could be persuaded to act thus once more under the right circumstances.

William's son, the little prince, was once such condition. Guy could use the boy for a while to subdue the mother. Sibylla loved the child more than anything else. She would do anything for him. And so, Guy discovered the perfect weapon against his wife and any scheme she might develop to thwart him. It was the move of a genius. Guy smiled, cold eyes resting on his dark haired wife. She had no idea what he was planning. He almost allowed himself to burst out laughing, seeing her sitting there so calmly. This woman was unaware of what awaited her.

Lively discussion sounded all around him. Guy turned his eyes to his accomplice, his stare one that questioned. Lady Candida had assumed a calm expression, yet he could see that underneath the polished surface plans were swirling already. It had taken this woman no more than a few hours to assess her victim. She was remarkable, Guy decided. As such once her part was over, she would best be avoided. A woman such as her brought only trouble. If he was lucky, Guy would get rid of all these pests with this grand scheme of his. Just the though of it made him happy. He would do as he wished once they were gone, and gone they would be when he was done with them.

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_**A/N: The next chapter will be Baldwin-centered as I promised to someone. In the meantime I hope you've enjoyed this chapter here. Please, do tell me what you think of it. Thank you for the support and the patience, to all those of you who read this story. **_


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